


2019 Year of Smut

by crackleviolet



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game), The Arcana (Visual Novel), スイートルームで悪戯なキス | Kissed By the Baddest Bidder, 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: 2019 Year of Smut, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: A collection of smutty otome fics to see us through 2019!





	1. Coming Home (Eisuke Ichinomiya)

_January’s first entry for the year of smut! I got quite a lot of requests for Eisuke and I thought he was a pretty good place to start. Halfway through writing this I realised that Eisuke’s feelings towards MC reminded me of one of my favorite Byron poems, **[She walks in Beauty](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F43844%2Fshe-walks-in-beauty&t=NjIzY2JkMGMzMGY5YWIwZTQ5YTE1ZmQ3YzNhZDYzZTJiMjM3NmVkZSxKaUl4YndIUQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AxWxHk7I11YtmJ979Eh6FNA&p=http%3A%2F%2Ffromthedeskofelizabeththird.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F179308468300%2Fcoming-home&m=0). **_

_**This fic is NSFW, Eisuke x MC and 18 rated.** _

_**[2019 Year of Smut masterlist](http://fromthedeskofelizabeththird.tumblr.com/2019YOS) (tumblr)** _

**_They’re supposed to be going out for dinner, but MC has other ideas._ **

* * *

January birthdays have both their perks and downsides. For one, the line between new year and birthday celebrations grows increasingly blurred with each passing year. Eisuke, whose schedule is utter chaos at the best of times, spends much of his new year at official functions and private parties, sleeping for a maximum of three hours at a time and ignoring the growing bags under his eyes.

He has come to resent the parties now that MC is a part of his life. The alternative before was drinking alone or with a woman he’d forget come morning. These days he wants to spend every moment with her and no one else and begrudges sharing her even with relatively close acquaintances.

Today they are supposed to be attending dinner with a number of associates and he has no genuine desire to go, a fact only reinforced by MC’s concerns that she might make a fool of herself accidentally. As always, she has changed everything.

Today she went so far as to insist they drive together, all while giving him a twirl. He cannot deny that she looks beautiful, though he’d much rather she’d do so in the bedroom.

She put on a red dress that he bought for her; tight fitting and with ribbons at the back that he has replaced more often than he cares to remember. The ribbons are fragile and easy to tear and in the heat of the moment he cannot hold back.

Every so often he’ll catch a glimpse of her exposed back; a flash of colour in the corner of his eye. He’s sure she chose it specifically to taunt him; patting her hand against his leg every time he falls silent.

Dinner is going to be torture; a fact made all too clear as he grips the steering wheel. He’s glad that it’s dark and she cannot see how white his knuckles are or the concentration on his face. It takes all of his energy to focus on the road and every so often he chews at his bottom lip in an attempt to think of anything else. He doesn’t want to think about how hard he is; she’s teasing him on purpose and he cannot stand to let her win.

“I wonder what’s on the menu tonight,” she says, peering into the rear view mirror and adjusting her hair. “I was talking to the chefs at the hotel and they’re adjusting it for the new season.”

“Mhmmm.”

Eisuke cannot bring himself to care about seasonal menus or even their upcoming meal. All he can think about is tearing the ribbons of MC’s dress and hitching up her skirt.

“I’ve heard they have black watermelon,” she says. “I wonder how it might work in a dessert.”

“Mhmm.”

“Eisuke?”

She touches a hand to his thigh and his stomach flutters.

“Eisuke?”

“Mmm, yes?”

“You seem to be in a world of your own,” she laughs, a knowingness in her voice that only confirms his suspicions. She has intended this from the beginning and he is so happy at confirmation that he cannot bring himself to humour her and look surprised.

Calling a raincheck is almost too easy; Eisuke faking an apologetic tone and story about a prior engagement even as MC trails her lips across his throat, leaving smears of red lipstick in their wake. He does not remember pulling over; doesn’t remember travelling a quiet road and arriving at an overlook so far from the Tres Spades that he cannot make it out over the horizon.

He does, however, remember tossing his phone into the back seat and lifting MC onto his lap. She grips the steering wheel, gasping as he reaches for the ribbons of her dress. The last tie is at the back of her neck and it takes only one gentle tug to leave her dress falling to her lap, leaving her naked from the top of her head to the curve of her waist. At first she is modest, reaching up to shield her breasts from view. His response is to laugh and reach for the rear view mirror, moving it left and then right until he can properly see their reflections-MC’s parted lips and the goosebumps along her skin. He reaches around her middle to coax her hands away from her chest, grazing his lips across the back of her neck as he reaches to cup her breasts. He opens one eye to admire the view-his hands ghosting MC’s skin and lingering at the points that leave her gasping.

He is all too aware that his hands are cold and some of her gasps come from the sudden change in temperature. If anything that leaves him more boisterous, squeezing the softer spots of her body and biting her exposed skin forcefully enough to leave bruises.

“You know, I really do love that dress,” he whispers.

“Do you now?”

Originally he bought it for the colour; noticing the ribbons only after having MC model it in the store. She’s bolder when she wears it, more inclined to wear red lipstick and higher heels. Her blushing innocence only leaves him with a greater appreciation for the times she steps out of character.

He runs a hand across her thighs and the lace of her underwear.

“Now what have we here,” he breathes, tracing the patterns and slipping his fingers under the seams. He smirks in satisfaction at her gasps as he skims his fingertips across her clit, her grip on the steering wheel growing ever tighter.

He does not bother to be gentle; instead picking up an unforgiving pace that sends her bucking her hips across his fingers and against his cock. He can see her expression in the rear view mirror; eyes half lidded as she bites her bottom lip. Sometimes she sneaks glances at her own reflection; the only moments that she shows an ounce of modesty.

“Ei…Eisuke,” she moans, leaning into him and reaching down to cast aside her underwear entirely. “Eisuke, I…”

He drags her underwear to her knees and pushes her forward, giving himself enough room to reach down to his zipper. He gives himself one and then two tentative strokes before reaching up to guide her hips towards his. Her breath hitches as she sinks onto his cock and he cannot tear his gaze from the rear view mirror; away from the curve of her neck and wet sound every time she sinks onto him.

She starts slow and steady, gauging the best angles and depth. His mind falls blank the moment she takes him in completely. She’s panting from the exertion, a sheen of sweat across her body.

“Oh f-“

She’s so warm and so tight that he struggles to find words, instead reaching down and searching for her clit. He knows he’s on the right track when she hisses with pleasure and bucks her hips into his.

The car windows are foggy, leaving them closed off from the outside world. He no longer remembers where exactly he stopped the car, nor can he bring himself to care. The warm ripples of pleasure running through her as she comes and raspy sound of her calling his name are all he can being himself to care about.

He steadies his hands on her waist, easing her pace and latching his teeth into the back of her neck as his own release sets in. MC moans as he comes inside of her, staying in place as she overflows and wetness pools between her thighs.

They sit in silence, catching their breath, the foggy windows clearing alongside the fog of lust. The red marks across her skin from his teeth are only too clear to him now, along with the evening chill.

“H-happy birthday,” she pants, resting her head against the steering wheel.

* * *

The pair of them are sweaty and disheveled upon their return to the hotel. Eisuke is grateful for the private elevator and entrances, not out of modesty, but lack of desire to share the moment.

MC is tucked up in bed when he gets there, naked under the covers and helping herself to black watermelon. It’s a tranquil sight and seemingly absurd against the backdrop of the clothes they cast aside on the bedroom floor.

Her lips are sweet from the fruit and her kisses moreso. She lifts some of the melon onto a cocktail stick and guides it into his mouth.

“Well?” MC asks, watching the juice trickle from his lips to his chin.

“I think I’d rather have something else for dessert.”

“Oh?”

“What can I say,” he says, setting aside the plate as she sits up onto her hands and knees to straddle him. “I’ve got an appetite.”

They really did skip dinner and his stomach really is growling as she links her hands in his, but given the choice he would rather starve to death than go without her gentle touches.

She is all the nourishment he needs; his only constant. To kiss her is to remember himself and to hold her is to come home. 


	2. Whore (Tokugawa Ieyasu)

_At the time of writing this (November 2018), I haven’t done Ieyasu’s route and wouldn’t call myself a fan. I did, however, set up the year of smut to challenge myself (because I think smut is one of the hardest things to write) and adding a character I’m not a fan of only adds to the overall difficulty. After finishing it, I did develop feels (however brief) for Ieyasu, so who knows lmao. Maybe at the time you’re reading this, I’ll have finished his route and have different things to say about him._

**SLBP, Ieyasu x Courtesan, NSFW, 18+**

**[2019 Year of Smut masterlist](http://fromthedeskofelizabeththird.tumblr.com/2019YOS) **

**DISCLAIMER: This fic pretty prominently features degradation, Ieyasu throwing the heroine around and just generally being nastee. It’s probably one of the more problematic smuts I’ve done and I know some people will be uncomfortable with it so please continue to skim if that kind of thing bothers you.** **Secondly,** **Ieyasu may be slightly OOC as I only know his event material, which a lot of the time are in themselves OOC and not representative of the actual route ~~*cough choke Inuchiyo cough*~~**

* * *

If sex is an art then she is adept; better acquainted than most with the tastes of men. She knows how best to pout, to blush, to seduce and it does not escape her that the Lord Nobunaga buys her services as a joke. 

It is the end of a long battle; the perfect opportunity for good food and a pocketful of gold. She is not the only courtesan invited, though the first to receive an invitation into the Lord Nobunaga’s private rooms. She felt his gaze on her body as she danced with the others, made sure to bare just enough flesh as she poured his drink. This is a rare opportunity and she does not doubt that she earned it, so his relative disinterest leaves her as morbidly curious as it does ashamed. 

She does not know how to react when he tosses a bag of gold in her direction and navigates her to another man’s room. A man he tells her next to nothing about, despite her numerous requests.

He tells her only two things of her client: that the man is almost certainly a virgin and loves strawberry daifuku.

A woman with half her experience would be lost at such a strange scenario but she takes it as a challenge. She has entertained warlords, monks and more and has a reputation to live up to. It is her pride that sends her changing her clothes and not the coins jingling in her pocket.

If she is known for anything it is her ability to take on the personality of another to best suit the one taking her to bed. Her previous clients have come to know her body, though only ever their own version of her heart.

She sits in front of her mirror and considers the only specific detail Nobunaga deigned to give her: strawberry daifuku.

From there she knows what to do. More specifically, she knows which recipe to follow.

She scrubs off her makeup first and unpins her hair, allowing it to fall free about her shoulders. She removes the gaudy kimono she wore for the party and puts on something simpler: a dress the colour of starlight and texture of evening mist. She smoothes rouge across her lips and perfume across her collar bones. She pinches her cheeks even as she knocks at his door to give the illusion of a virgin’s blush.

She expects to find a page or newly recruited warrior, though the reality is neither. Instead she enters the private rooms of one Tokugawa Ieyasu, who plainly has not been expecting her either.

“Who are you?”

She hands him a name that is not her own, in a dainty voice that does not suit her, explaining her purpose and receiving a roll of the eyes as a response.

She knew from the beginning that Nobunaga only paid her as a joke and can tell from his glare that it is not lost on Ieyasu either.

“How gracious of the lord of fools,” he says, in a saccharine tone far removed from his words. “Well then, sit over there and face the wall.”

She hears a lot stories in her line of work and knows many about him, from his quick wits and battle stratagems to fragments of his past. She does not presume to know how many are true, only that a man such as himself would know better than to refuse a gift from the lord Nobunaga.

With that in mind, she takes a seat in the corner as he has commanded, back straight and eyes focused on the walls.

He is occupied by something, though she does not dare chance a look. Instead she shifts her weight and considers what to do next.

“Would you like me to sing for you, sir?”

He turns the page of something and chuckles softly.

“I have no interest in listening to a whore.”

“Then how would you prefer I entertain you?”

She hears him pause, setting aside whatever book he has and climbing to his feet. She braces herself as his footsteps, knowing his type all too well and considering each possible scenario. She barely flinches when he touches her shoulder and maintains a cool facade as he turns her to face him.

His words are dripping with malice, but his expression is cheerful; a contrast that sends a very real shiver down her spine.

“I should rather you stay quiet and know your place.”

He cups her chin in his hand and strokes his thumb over her bottom lip, hands so cold that she digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from trembling.

“Disgusting,” he laughs, turning her head one way and then the other. “I don’t understand their fascination with you and your sort. No self respect.”

She knows his type all too well; those who spit insults and barbs and rough touches to hide a soft underbelly. She tests the waters, sliding her tongue across his thumb and watching as he snatches his hand away as if burned. He glances from his thumb to her and back again, expression unreadable, but conflict clear.

“Annoying,” he says, rubbing the evidence from his skin. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Sitting there on the floor, so pathetic.”

“I sit here because you-“

He reaches for his sword and holds it to her throat, rendering her silent in a matter of seconds.

“Strip,” he says, lowering the blade to the collar of her kimono. Slowly, she reaches for the fastenings and allows the fabric to fall to the floor-the point of his sword resting against her neck. She is used to men seeing her so exposed, but feigns modesty, reaching up to cup her hands over her breasts, which only seems to amuse him.

“You are my property for tonight, are you not?”

“I…”

Property is far from how she would refer to herself, especially given Nobunaga is the one whose gold sent her here, but the idea seems to satisfy him and she nods.

“If I asked you to run through the castle without clothes, you would have to do it.”

He expects her to beg and plead, she guesses. He likes the sweeter things in life-toying and teasing and having his own way.

“Yes, sir,” she says without a hint of hesitation, knowing that he has no intention of ordering her to do so. Men such as this do not share their playthings, after all.

He tuts at her response, much as she expected and casts aside his sword, reaching out for her hair instead. She gasps as he tangles his fingers in it and drags her across the room, all but throwing her to the floor with a strength that she had not expected. She lands on all fours and peers back at him, watching as he slips off his robes and stands entirely bare. He is sturdily built, with strong arms as befitting of an archer, though there is no use in denying that his frame is much smaller than many men she has taken to bed. Seeing him naked leaves her with no doubts that the stories about him refusing food are true. There are scars on his body, too, some that she recognises from battle; the telltale marks of a stray sword or arrowhead. Others she recognises from the bodies of her colleagues: candle wax and more than one lashing from a whip.

It is a confirmation of everything she already knew; that those who enjoy sweet things are often better acquainted with the opposite.

“Face the wall,” he snarls, clearly not appreciating a stranger’s eyes on his naked body.

She obeys, moving to sit in the corner as he ordered her before, only to earn another sharp reproach.

“Did I say you could move?”

She sits back up onto all fours, picking up on his intent as he approaches. He means to degrade her; to put her in the position most associated with beasts before fucking her. He moves quietly, footsteps barely audible against the floor. He crouches down onto the floor behind her, so silently that it’s not until he reaches for her hips that she realises he’s there.

“Is this what you came here for?”

She hears him spit and braces herself for what is coming, taking a deep breath as he presses his tip against her folds. He thrusts hard and deep, leaving her to genuinely whimper in surprise.

“There it is,” he says in satisfaction. “Rutting like a bitch in heat.”

He shifts his hips and fucks her harder, ramming against her with such force that she falls forward onto her elbows, ass high in the air and fixed in place by his icy hands.

“I’m almost tempted to ruin your life,” he says, though it sounds more like a moan than a threat. “How much would it cost you if I put a brat inside you today?”

In truth, it would cost her nothing. There are herbs and other treatments for such misfortunes, along with men as desperate to tarnish a pregnant woman as others are about spoiling the innocence of virgins. He does not seem to be aware of this, but she humours his fantasy.

“I could take you back to my castle,” he says, “and watch you grow fat.”

He fucks her harder, pounding against the bundle of nerves deep inside of her with such force that it leaves her digging her nails into the floor for fear of crying out at the combination of pleasure and pain. She can feel herself tightening, pleasure building at the pit of her stomach. He set up this scene to use her, to seek pleasure at the cost of hers and she claps a hand over her mouth and digs her teeth into her knuckles to stop herself moaning.

“Maybe I’ll yank them from your arms,” he says. “Save them the shame of being a whore’s brat.”

He loosens his grip on her hips for a second and grabs her arm, yanking her up onto her knees and turning her over onto her back.

He wants to see his handiwork; to witness the moment she loses control. She aims to please and looks up into his eyes, letting him enjoy the sight of her ragged gasps. He fucks her deeper, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging his teeth into his bottom lip both from the exertion and his need to come.

He was a virgin only a short time ago and, when combined with his heavy-almost frantic- thrusts, it’s all too soon and only too obvious when he nears his climax. He falls silent about hell spawn and locking her away, instead squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the wet sounds and moans as he fucks her deeper.

She is a master of her art, but even she cannot stay her own orgasm forever, crying out at the shocks of pleasure running through her body. She arches her back off the floor and meets his thrusts, too overtaken by pleasure to maintain her facade.

Her loud moans leave him tutting and sits back onto his heels, pulling out of her and getting to his feet.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” he says, laughing out loud. “What a vile creature you are.”

She sits up onto her knees, wincing at the throbbing from her core and thighs, only to gasp as he grabs her by her hair and forces his cock into her mouth. The taste is bitter-a mixture of her own body and something unfamiliar. He doesn’t leave her time to adjust to the sensation, though, instead tightening his grip.

“That’s it,” he says, pulling back her head and smiling at her gasps for air. “Right where you belong.”

He holds her head in place and she reaches for his calves to steady her weight, taking his cock into her mouth of her own accord. He wastes no time, slamming the head of his cock towards the back of her throat. It’s overwhelming; she digs her nails into his skin without meaning to, spluttering every time he drags away his dick.

“Look at me,” he whispers, and she glances up, keeping eye contact even as he slows his movements and hisses with pleasure, calling her a whore even as his seed spills out of her mouth and onto the floor. She glances up at him through her eyelashes, keeping eye contact even as he pushes his hand over her mouth, leaving her no choice but to swallow.

For a while they stay there, catching their breath and allowing the aftershocks to fade. She wonders if he has any further plans for her, watching curiously when he finally steps back and away from her. He pulls his night robe back on and takes in the sight of her sitting there, hair a tangled mess and mouth smeared with a mixture of spit and semen. Between the roughhousing and cut off air supply, she feels more than a little bit dazed.

He glances from her to their surroundings, finally sighing deeply and motioning to the door.

“Well? You got what you came here for. Get out.”

She wipes her lips on her arm and gets to her feet, wobbling on the spot as if she has forgotten how to walk. Ieyasu watches, that same, saccharine smile breaking out across his face from earlier. He picks up the gown she wore for him and drapes it over her shoulders as tenderly as one might expect from a lover. The moment is over all too quickly, though, and he reaches for her throat.

“Say anything about what happened here and I’ll kill you,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

Ordinary women might be frightened of such a threat, but she knows the truth behind the venom. It is his first time bedding a woman and Nobunaga has already humiliated him enough.

She puts her dress on quickly, stopping to bow before leaving his chambers. The night is cool against her skin and the feast still active, the sounds of merrymaking as loud now as when she arrived at Ieyasu’s room. She wonders how long has passed; the sky is so dark that it might pass for morning or night.

She glances back in the direction of Ieyasu’s room, considering how many men she has entertained and the identities she has crafted over the years. It is satisfying, to say the least, to finally bed someone with a better mask than her own. 


	3. Perfect Illusion (Soryu Oh)

_February is Soryu season and so he’s the February entry on my 2019 Year of Smut. Incidentally, he is my favourite bidder and I’ve been meaning to write more about him for a while. If you liked this, please kick my ass into action so I finish the WIP I’ve had for him for about a decade._ **_  
_ **

**_Kissed by the Baddest Bidder, Soryu x MC, Explicit_ **

**_Soryu is in Hong Kong, MC is in Dubai. Webcam shenanigans occur._ **

* * *

**_I miss_ ** **  
**

**_I miss y-_ **

MC types, though never sends it, instead holding down delete.

Soryu is in Hong Kong on business and MC continuing her work in Dubai. It’s not the first time he’s returned there; now that he is the leader of the group his list of priorities is longer than ever. It is his dream and she means to do everything in her power to support him, whether it’s making his lunch or reminding him to sleep.

Even so, she cannot deny that she misses him; refusing to sleep on his side of the bed for fear of his scent fading from the pillows. She misses his touches: the strength in his arms as he pulls her towards him; his hungry kisses and gasps when she touches him in exactly the right spot. Sometimes she lies in bed and imagines him there, pretending it is his hands reaching into her underwear instead of her own.

At first, just thinking of him is enough to send her over the edge, only to be reminded every time she hears his voice on the phone that imagination is no substitute for the real thing. She wants to tell him nothing more than how much she misses him, though settles for silence for fear of casting a dark cloud over everything he has ever worked for.

The idea of Skaiype came to her several weeks after his departure; a flash of inspiration as she washed the dishes. She almost regrets it now, for if the sound of his voice is enough to leave her overwhelmingly lonely, seeing his face is pure torture.

Between time zones and busy schedules, video calls are infrequent to say the least. They made plans to speak tonight but Soryu is several hours late. It’s currently two in the morning and she’s been waiting since getting home from work. She needs to take a bath, eat and organise her uniform for the early morning shift, but instead has waited in front of her computer, convinced that he will log on the moment she goes to bed.

It’s three when she finally resigns herself to taking a bath, fatigue washing over her as thoroughly as the water. She’s not looking forward for Erika’s inevitable barbs in a few hours, though even the prospect of puffy eyes and breakouts pales in comparison to missing a call from Soryu.

She plots out her schedule as she wraps herself in a towel-counting out how many hours of sleep she can afford herself and what sacrifices she may need to make. Normally she enjoys making a traditional breakfast, but resigns herself to something from the hotel vending machine in exchange for longer in bed.

She’s squeezing the excess water from her hair when she hears it; the musical tone of an incoming video chat. She practically sprints back into the bedroom, leftover chores forgotten.

She clutches onto her towel as she drops down onto the bed to answer the call, heart fluttering in delight when Soryu appears on screen. He looks as tired as she feels, though his expression rapidly changes at the sight of her in nothing more than a towel.

“I….” He says, flushing a bright red and averting his gaze. “Did I disturb you?”

He is fully dressed and sharply so, though it’s difficult to tell if he is dressed for a morning meeting or home from one spanning far into the evening.

“No, no,” she says, “you called at just the right time.”

She means to reassure him, though realises her state of undress a matter of moments later.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I was just-“

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, “I’m the only one here, after all. If any of the other guys were around, well…”

MC giggles, water dripping from the ends of her hair to her lap.

“How are Samejima and Inui?”

“Behaving themselves, thankfully. A lot is changing, but the dragons are co-operating really well to make them happen.”

“I’m glad,” MC beams. “They all share a dream, so I’m not surprised they want to follow you.”

Soryu laughs, though his face soon falls.

“I wish that you could come here with me,” he says, reaching to run his fingers through his hair. “But at the same time…I’d want to keep you all to myself.”

“Oh?”

She’s sure she catches his gaze drift across her exposed skin, though only for a second. His hungry glances and pink cheeks leave her feeling bolder than usual.

“And if you had me all to yourself,” she says, fiddling with her towel, “what would you do?”

His blush grows brighter and she feels more than a little smug, continuing to rearrange her webcam and drop the towel to her waist.

“Would you touch me…like this?”

She reaches up to touch her breasts, running her fingers across the skin.

“Mhmm,” he says, unable to tear his gaze away.

MC runs her hands across her skin, chewing at her bottom lip.

“How else would you touch me?”

She lowers her hands and leans back, watching in satisfaction as he slips off his tie.

“What about this?”

She reaches a hand between her thighs, out of shot but achieving the perfect reaction nonetheless. She hears the breath hitch in his throat; the whisper of his tie hitting the bedroom floor.

“You’re so cruel,” he says, “taunting me like this when you know I can’t t-“

She smirks, getting up from the bed and turning her back to the webcam, one arm draped across her breasts and the other holding onto her towel.

He falls silent the moment she drops it, whispering something that sounds awfully like ‘fuck’.

“MC,” he says, “I…”

“Hmmm?”

She’s never done anything like this before and worries that her movements are awkward. Soryu quells any doubts she might have had, however, by motioning for her to sit on the bed.

“I’d touch you…there.”

He’s modest even as he basks in the sight of her naked body and, even though his wording is vague, she knows exactly what he means. She remembers all too well the feel of his lips across her throat as he strokes her clit through her underwear.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one who’s naked.”

She’s only half joking, though her heart leaps when he stands up and reaches for his belt buckle. She remembers the feel of it, remembers hooking her fingers into his belt loops and fiddling with the fastenings.

He drops it to the floor and her mouth runs dry, leaving her to lick her lips as he kicks off his pants. He reaches for his dick, allowing her to admire how hard her antics have made him before giving himself a few tentative strokes.

“Oh my,” she whispers despite herself, prompting Soryu to take a few steps backwards until his face and body are in view. She watches as he leans his head back and tightens his grip on his dick, rolling his hips into his fist.

“Lay back,” he says, eyes half lidded and glazed with lust. “I want to see you..want to…”

He pumps his dick harder than before and hisses in pleasure, leaving MC blushing luridly as she obeys. For the first time in weeks, she lays her head against his pillow, absorbing the scent of him as she spreads her legs and peers across at the laptop screen. Maybe it is the angling, lighting or a mixture of both, but when she spreads her legs it’s as if he really is standing there at the foot of the bed.

It’s only fair that she reciprocates, slipping her hand between her legs and reaching between her folds for her clit. The only sounds to break the silence are his heavy breaths and clap of his hand against his dick and if she closes her eyes she can practically feel him there, running his hands over her body and whispering in her ear.

“Do you have any idea…” he pants, “what I’m going to do to you when I get home.”

“Tell me.”

“Well first,” he says, “I’m going to rip off that uniform…”

“Oh?”

“And then I’ll bend you over the kitchen table…”

The thought sends a ripple of pleasure through her core, leaving her more aware than ever of the rapidly tightening need within her.

“And then what?”

She’s holding on, though she doesn’t know how, feeling for all the world as if she is clutching on for dear life. She wants to come, needs to come, can think of nothing else but letting go.

“And… then,” he says, “I’ll sit on my knees…and lift your leg over my shoulder.”

She can almost feel it; his smooth hair and hot lips grazing the inside of her thighs. She picks up her own pace, the wet sounds of her fingers against her pussy all she can think about. She closes her eyes and takes in the sounds of his gentle moans and the quickening of his pace. He outright gasps when she slips in a finger, wanting nothing more than to really be there on the bed with her.

He comes first, losing all prior composure and spilling all over his hand. He stands there to catch his breath, body quivering with a sheen of sweat. It doesn’t take her much longer, gripping onto the bed covers as pleasure swallows her whole.

She rolls over onto all fours the moment it’s over, dazed and exhausted, but regretting nothing. She takes a deep breath, unsure how to continue their prior conversation. In the end it is Soryu who breaks the silence, speaking aloud the same words she was too nervous to send via text.

“I miss you.”

His words stay with her long after they end the call, long after the bed grows cold and she sleeps through her first and second alarm. She cannot bring herself to care, though; the illusion that they were together is a perfect one, even if it satisfies only the surface of her need for him.


	4. Pay Attention To Me (Yoosung Kim)

_Yoosung’s birthday is in March and what better way to celebrate than including him as a March entry for my 2019 year of smut?_

_Anyone who’s dated someone addicted to online gaming will relate to this, myself included lmaooooo_

_**Mystic Messenger | Yoosung x MC | Explicit** _

**_Yoosung is still very much addicted to LOLOL. MC considers how to get his attention._ **

* * *

“Yoosung!”

MC balances the tray in her arms and reaches out to knock.

“Yoosung, I’m coming in.”

Old habits die hard, regardless of good intentions. Yoosung’s grades are better than ever; his house clean and tidy and his moods better balanced. MC is proud of these developments, even if they only highlight the bad habits left behind. He still spends entire weekends holed up in his room, skipping meals and even baths.

MC originally came over to eat dinner, only to be forgotten in the excitement of a brand new LOLOL event. He did promise to be finished in time to make dinner, but it’s been an hour, food is on the table and MC has not seen him since her arrival.

She steps into his room, stepping over a pile of dirty laundry and rearranging the mound of cup noodles to set down the dinner tray.

Yoosung’s at his desk in the corner of the room, frantically pressing keys and issuing commands through his headset. She’s not sure what’s happening on screen, though takes a quick peek as she reaches to tap his shoulder. From the looks of things, his team is fending off a dragon, though she can’t tell which of the brightly coloured sprites is his character.

He turns to her with a smile and rests his hand over hers, though only momentarily. Within seconds he’s back at the keyboard.

“Frey, go for the hind legs! Red, cast the healing spell!”

MC sighs, crouching down to gather the dirty laundry and garbage abandoned on the floor. There seems to be a sock under his desk and she crawls into the narrow gap, reaching up for Yoosung’s leg automatically for balance.

He gasps, her sudden touches catching him off guard.

“What is it?”

“Did something happen?”

Yoosung rolls his chair back a little, completely ignoring the cacophony of his teammates in the background.

Two things occur to MC as his eyes meet hers. First, that his party have no idea why he gasped. Secondly, that for the first time all day, she has his undivided attention.

She reaches up to trail her hand up and across his thigh, keeping eye contact as she grows closer to his zipper. His teammates still have no idea what’s going on and his attempts at explanations fall flat. He cannot hide the sighs and gasps as she loosens the zipper and reaches for the hemline of his boxers.

“Sorry guys,” he says, frantically typing and letting out a gasp at the feel of her cold fingers on his cock. “Fray, cast your summon! Queenie, go for the left leg.”

MC gives his cock a gentle stroke, squeezing her hand as she grows closer to the tip. He is hard by the third and bucking his hips against her hand, shooting her glances every now and then.

“Excuse me guys, I need to take a bathroom break. I’ll be back in a second.”

He mutes his microphone despite the protests of his team and rolls back his chair. For a second, she worries that she’s messed up and he’s going to tell her to leave, but instead he kicks off his jeans and boxers and sits back down, spreading his legs and blushing luridly.

MC smiles and reaches for his cock, taking a slow pace and waiting for him to moan before squeezing harder and twisting her wrist. His moans and the wet sounds of her hands against his skin are quiet against the battle sounds on his computer and running commentary of his party, though as far as MC is concerned the room might as well be silent. Yoosung leans back in his chair, running his fingers through her hair and gasping at her touches. His face is bright red and his other hand gripping the desk for dear life, hips bucking against her hands.

“MC…M-ah!!”

She runs her tongue over his length and around the tip, slowing her hands and watching him squirm. He shoves his fist in his mouth, digging his teeth further into his knuckles the more she touches him. The moment she takes him into her mouth, he gasps and tightens his grip on her hair, holding her so tightly that she can barely move her head. He leans forward and she squeezes her hand at the base of his cock, bobbing her head down to take him into her mouth as she pumps his dick far faster than before.

It’s easy to tell when he’s close; his stammers of her name and all manner of pleas for her to continue are a dead giveaway. It’s been quite a while since they last had sex and presumably even longer since he gave himself any attention, for he squeezes his eyes shut and comes with a great deal of force, covering her face, her clothes and the desk. He pants for air and moves her hands from his dick, giving it a few more strokes of his own.

“MC…” he says, eyes clouded by lust and cheeks a bright red, “I…”

She feels more than a little bit smug at this outcome, though it quickly dissipates as he turns to his computer screen and leaps right back into action, spamming keyboard controls and switching his mic back on.

“It’s at critical HP! We’ve got this!”

“Where the hell were you? Did you go take a shit or something?”

“No,” Yoosung laughs. “I had something else to take care of. Now, cast the binding spell!”

MC sighs and climbs up from behind the desk, grabbing dirty laundry en route and placing a box of tissues on the corner of his desk. Old habits die hard, she considers, throwing the clothes in her arms into the laundry basket and hoisting it up onto her hip.

Even so, for better or for worse, some are far more stubborn than others.


	5. Minutes to Midnight (Sanada Yukimura)

_Yukimura is one of the Lords of March and I just knew I had add him to the list. This is inspired by the Yukimura and Saizo bathtub videos they released recently (or at least recently at the time of writing lmao)._

**SLBP | Yukimura x MC | Explicit**

**Yukimura and MC are away from home and make the most of their new surroundings.**

* * *

As expected of any warrior, training takes up a significant amount of Yukimura’s time. There’s always room for improvement and techniques to master and he maintains his body in the same way as his armour and blade.

It’s Lord Shingen’s idea to visit the onsen, taking note of the hot weather and relative peace. There are no battles to organise nor invasions to prevent and the idea of spending a weekend in the sunshine is too good a prospect to pass up. Even so, Yukimura finds his mind elsewhere. While the majority of the retainers pack light clothes and sake for the trip, he debates training swords, which greatly amuses MC.

“I’m sure the Lord Shingen would rather you relax with everyone else,” she says on the morning of their departure, taking in his heavy bag.

He elects to say nothing of the dark shadows under her eyes and mountain of snacks she has carefully prepared, instead hoisting his luggage over one shoulder with a satisfied smile. He does not want to admit the truth; that training has become such a part of his life that he will be lost without it. His body is sworn to Lord Shingen’s service and he will not allow himself to die ashamed. There must never be a sword too heavy for him, no army he cannot cut down.

MC is not a soldier, though, with little understanding of war. She laughs as he rushes off in front to their destination, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his body in the heat of the summer sun. He supposes he must look quite ridiculous to her, but would have it no other way. If she comes to know the battlefield and bloodshed as intimately as he does then surely he has failed as a man. Her smile must always be as sunny as the sky above him; gentle and unwavering.

He is the first to arrive at the beach; the first to suggest wrestling contests and watermelon cutting. He is also one of the first to leave the growing party and wander off to the onsen. Between the alcohol and exertion, he is only too happy to indulge himself in a moment of uninterrupted relaxation.

He sighs in satisfaction as the heat of the water sinks into his aching muscles, easing out the knots in his back. He leans back against the wall and allows his legs to float underwater, gazing through the onsen’s stream at nothing in particular. In this moment he thinks he understands Shingen’s motivations for coming here. The waters are so still and warm and the beach so lively that it’s almost impossible to think of war.

He leans back and gazes up at the stars, eyes half lidded. He only had one sip of sake, but he blames if for his sleepiness anyway. He tells himself that he should not fall asleep here; that he will either catch a cold or drown. Even so, he cannot bring himself to move and is somewhat grateful at the sound of movement on the other side of the pool.

“Hello?” He calls out, meaning to invite over whichever retainer it happens to be, only to blush a bright red and immediately avert his eyes.

In center of the bath is a rock large enough to sit on. Now, though it serves another purpose. MC peers around the side, face flushed from embarrassment and body entirely hidden.

“M-MC,” Yukimura splutters, what are you d-doing here?”

“This is the women’s bath.”

His heart skips a beat, the realisation striking him too late that he came here semi automatically and does not remember reading any of the signs.

“I,” he says, a flush breaking out across his face, “I’m sorry! I’ll leave at once.”

He moves towards the bank, turning his entire body away from the bath and mumbling apology after apology.

“It’s alright,” she says, though, and he’s sure he misheard her.

“Huh?”

“I don’t mind. I’m happy that it’s you.”

In retrospect, he should have expected this, though cannot shake the guilt. MC is the only woman in their group and ought to have had the women’s baths to herself. The fact that no other retainers had come to the baths should have been enough of a clue in itself that he had come to the wrong place. He cannot disagree with her, though. Any other retainer to make the same mistake might have seen MC naked.

“M-me too.”

This is his first chance to speak to MC since their arrival and the sound of her voice only serves as a reminder of exactly how much he has missed her.

“Are you enjoying the sunshine?”

It seems a mundane question given their current circumstances; he can think of nothing more than the rising steam and knowledge that MC is naked somewhere nearby.

“It’s good to take a break sometimes,” she says, laughing softly.

“I’m glad.”

He knows that despite her presence at the coast, she likely didn’t take a break at all, instead refilling drinks and taking care of Lord Shingen and his men. She seems happy enough to see him, though he cannot escape the overwhelming sense of guilt that he’s intruded on a moment that ought to have been private.

“Y-Yukimura,” she says, quieter than before. “Could you…come closer? Shouting across the bath like this might draw the other retainers.”

She has a point, he supposes. If Lord Shingen finds out, or-worse- Saizo, he might never live it down. He can already imagine Saizo’s knowing grin and teases that he had not made a mistake at all.

The water is deeper where MC is and he wades towards her, water rising to his waist. MC peers out from behind the rock as he approaches, turning her back to him as he comes close enough to touch her. He matches her body language, turning away from her himself and gasping as they sit back to back. There’s no denying that she’s naked now-no denying that they both are.

“So,” she says, shyness taking over her voice. “Did you win the wrestling?”

“I did. We should focus more on hand to hand combat when we get back. It was good to see-”

He falls silent at MC’s soft laughter.

“D-did I say something funny?”

“No,” she says, “it’s just like you to think of training schedules even here.”

“Oh,” he says, unable to keep a smile from his face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You know the world wouldn’t end if you let yourself rest sometimes,” she says. “I’m happy that you’re dedicated…and I’m sure Lord Shingen is too…but I think you forget you’re a person sometimes.”

Her body is soft and warm against his own, her hair soft against the back of his neck. He wishes he could look at her; at the sheen of water against her skin and moonlight in her eyes. He says nothing of it, though, determined to ignore his imagination. The more he tries to deny himself, the harder it is to dismiss the image forming in his mind. If he closes his eyes, he can see the curve of her breasts and downy hair between her legs. It’s not the first time he’s thought of such things, but the first time it’s been so difficult to ignore.

That’s not the only thing he’s struggling to ignore. He can feel himself growing hard, the mental image of a naked MC enough to grab his attention. He’s glad she has her back to him; that the water is high enough to hide his shame.

“I’m sorry,” she says, taking his silence to mean he is unhappy. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No! No, I was just…”

He realises that he cannot tell her of his predicament and racks his brain for a likely explanation, finally settling on something simple.

“It’d be nice if we could stay here longer.”

It’s easy to focus on training, though he almost regrets it now. It’s difficult to deny that Shingen intended their short stay to be a break from reality, yet as far as he and MC were concerned nothing has changed. They worry about the same things even as they sit back to back in a hot spring.

He wishes now that he had eaten watermelon with her; taken a break from wrestling to find her a particularly pretty shell. Such things will be a luxury when they finally get home and the weight of the world returns to their shoulders.

“Yukimura,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Will you…could you…”

“Hmm?”

“Could you turn around?”

His stomach flutters at the idea and he takes a deep breath before shifting his weight and turning around to face her. He takes one look at her pink cheeks and exposed shoulders and squeezes his eyes closed, a fact that only seems to amuse her.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, you’re without clothes. I wouldn’t want you to-”

“Yukimura,” she says, more forceful this time. “I want you to look at me.”

He opens his eyes and focuses on the water, jumping out of his skin when she reaches out a hand to his face. She’s not usually this bold and to say it catches him off guard is an understatement. Slowly, he lifts his own hand and holds it over hers, water trickling across his neck and chest from both of their fingertips.

He understands her meaning even without saying a word. Tomorrow the spell will be broken, leaving tonight little more than a dream. They will return to their old selves the moment they get home, with nothing but memories to remind them of the shore. His body is sworn to Lord Shingen’s service, but in this moment there is no Takeda, no Sanada, no Kai and he wants nothing more than to swear it to her.

He crushes his lips against hers, drinking in her moans and reaching for her waist. She returns the kiss with just as much force, linking her arms around his neck and using her tongue to pry open his lips. He obliges, sighing into her touches and dropping his hands from her waist to her ass. She responds in kind; wrapping her legs around him and easing herself onto his lap.

It’s too much and not enough. Their kisses leave him out of breath, yet no matter how tightly he grips onto her he does not feel close enough.

“MC,” he gasps, all too aware that they have never been alone like this before, let alone kissing so feverishly in one another’s arms. “Is this okay?”

“Of course,” she moans. “You?”

He responds by smoothing his hands over her legs and rolling his hips against her, earning a gasp of surprise. She loosens her grip on him, taking a few steps back and towards the bank. He follows, pressing his back to the wall and lifting her back onto his lap.

Perhaps it is the heat of the water or her naked body. Perhaps it is the fact that they are so far from home and he had not seen her all day. Whatever the case may be, he has never been so desperate to touch her; never so happy to drown in her kisses.

She reaches down for his dick, smiling into his kisses at the rasps she gains in response.

“MC,” he moans, “I’m not sure how long I can…”

“Good.”

She runs her fingers over his cock, squeezing it from base to tip. Her movements are clumsy and inexperienced, but he melts under her touches nonetheless. He reaches for her breast, squeezing a good deal more roughly than usual as he peppers soft kisses along her throat.

She reaches one shaky hand to the bank, releasing her grip on her cock.

“Are you alright?” He breathes into her, reaching up to cup her face.

“More than alright,” she says, using her other hand to steady her weight. “I’ve never been better.”

She sinks onto his dick, so slowly at first that it’s almost painful. He leans back, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to stifle his moans. She leans forward to kiss him, gasping as he fills her completely.

“MC,” he says, wanting to tell her she’s beautiful, only to lose his train of thought when she shifts her weight.

“I want you,” she whispers and goosebumps break out across his skin.

He’d sell his soul to stay there forever; to hear her moans for the rest of his life.

He presses his forehead against hers, holding onto her hips and bucking his hips into hers, deepening the thrust with every moan.

The sound of their bodies slipping out of the water and MC’s soft sighs borders on obscene, each thrust deeper than the last. His stomach churns every time she takes him in, the force of the collision sending shivers along his spine.

Right now nothing matters but the feel of her body against his; her fingers across his skin and lips at his throat. For a moment he even forgets his own name, so caught up in his immediate surroundings that he doesn’t respond when she calls it.

“Y-Yukimura,” she whispers, an urgency in her voice that wasn’t there before. Her body trembles, she digs her nails into his skin and he understands without saying a word.

She cries out as she comes undone, walls clenching so tightly around his cock that it leaves them both unravelled. He grips her ass as he comes, holding her in place to ride out the waves of pleasure and lean back against the bank.

They sit there in silence for almost too long, panting from the effort and slowly returning to reality. MC leans forward to rest her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his back, still shuddering from the force of her orgasm.

“I don’t want today to end,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as he kisses her forehead. “I just…want tonight to last forever.”

“Well you know,” he says, “if we stay here until daybreak, then it will.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It should be.”

MC laughs as she climbs up from his lap, legs wobbling as she gets to her feet. Her body is pale in the moonlight and he makes a point to take in every curve and freckle. Perhaps he has been in the bath for too long, but in this moment she looks ethereal.

“Is something the matter?” She asks, turning to face him and catching his gaze.

“N-nothing,” he says, the haze of lust leaving him in much the same fashion as a magic spell.

Tomorrow they will be themselves again; he will blush at the simplest of touches and she will stumble over her words. For now, though, he is only too aware that there are minutes to midnight and he is content to pretend for a just a little longer.


	6. Selfish (Julian Devorak)

_The last March entry in my Year of Smut._

_MC isn’t sure what to give Julian for his birthday and has to get creative._

_This is actually the second fic I drafted for him. The first I abandoned over 1000 words into it because I decided it would be better as a fluffy/angsty piece than smut. I’m going to post it at some point later this year._

**_The Arcana | Julian x MC | NSFW | Explicit_ **

* * *

Ordinarily, MC has no problem buying gifts.

She knows precisely which blends of tea and books that Asra prefers; the scents and wines from Prakra that will leave Nadia nostalgic.

Julian is a wild card, versed in far more exotic things than MC will ever be and least inclined to offer clues. He jokes whenever she asks him the sort of gift he would like, giving no straight answers and certainly no hints. MC hangs her nose over market stall after market stall, finding plenty of trinkets that remind her of him, though none as inherently special as she so badly wants her present to be. 

And so it is that MC schemes with Portia a month before Julian’s birthday. They agree on throwing him a surprise party at the Rowdy Raven; sending an invite to all of their close acquaintances and setting up a game of poker.

“One last thing,” says MC, a blush breaking out across her face. “Make sure he’s home by eleven…and doesn’t get drunk.”

Portia raises an eyebrow at that, opening her mouth to ask why MC herself cannot do so, only to break out in a knowing grin.

“I can’t make any promises about keeping him sober,” she says, “but I can definitely get him back by ten.”

MC feels more than a little bit guilty on the night of the party. She thought staying away from Julian would make things easier, but in the end she spends every hour from sunrise until sunset wondering how his day is going. They’ve been apart for only a matter of hours but she feels as if she hasn’t seen him for years. Even so, if she attends the party with him then she will almost certainly lose the element of surprise.

It’s easy enough to convince Mazelinka to allow her into the house while the party continues at the Rowdy Raven, earning the same knowing look that Portia gave her a month earlier. MC chooses not to question whether or not they have guessed her plan, instead occupying herself with filling the guest room with candles and flowers. If she is truly that predictable, after all, then it follows that Julian might also have guessed.

The petals are bright red and soft as a kiss; she finds herself twirling them round and round in her fingers as she waits. Nine o’clock comes and goes, leaving plenty of time for doubt to settle in.

What if this isn’t the sort of thing he would want at all? What if after all this time she’s read him wrong?

She’s suddenly incredibly conscious of everything-the amber glow of the candles and coarse sheets; the stretch marks on her thighs and goosebumps from her state of undress.

She checks the clock and neatens the bed covers, only to change her mind and arrange it as before. If she’s honest, she’s proud of her efforts; there are flower petals in every corner, sweet smelling candles, bottles and bottles of wine And then there’s her outfit; a plague doctor’s mask she borrowed from the community theater and nothing else. She slips on the mask every time she hears footsteps outside, stomach churning both from nervousness and anticipation.

MC knows Julian has a decent tolerance for alcohol, but has faith in Portia’s ability to keep an eye on him, a fact only reinforced when someone unlocks the door at exactly five minutes to ten.

“Come on! Just this way.”

“Portia…stay for a nightcap!”

“Oh, I’m good, believe me.”

She can’t see Portia’s face, only the sound of her footsteps across the threshold. Even so, MC is in no doubts that she is smiling.

Julian sighs as the door closes and MC perches on the end of the bed, straightening her back and turning her head to the side in a near perfect imitation of one of Julian’s own coquettish poses.

She hears Portia leave; hears Julian sigh as he takes off his boots. Her heart is racing now and her palms are growing sweaty; Julian’s every footstep echoing across her senses.

He’s shrugging off his coat as he walks through the door, though he takes several steps back the moment he sees her. Her breath catches in her throat, so nervous that she’s practically dizzy, only for it to fade into nothingness as he breaks out into a grin.

“Well hello there,” he says, freezing on the spot as she nonchalantly swings one leg over the other.

“Happy birthday,” she says, hoping and praying that her nervousness doesn’t show. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She can feel his gaze across her exposed skin, from the curve of her neck to the swell of her breast. He takes one step closer and then another, draping his coat over the nearest chair.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen MC anywhere around here would you? Magician…about this height..devilishly good looking.”

“Perhaps,” says MC, motioning for him to get closer, only to lift up her leg and touch her foot to his chest the moment he draws too close.

“Not yet,” she says motioning with her fingers.

Tonight has been on her mind for weeks; every touch and sigh. She’s spent longer than she thought possible imagining everything they might do together and can think of nothing worse than for it to be over without Julian really getting the most out of his gift.

He reaches for her ankle, smoothing his fingers across the skin with a smile.

“You feel like MC,” he whispers, trailing soft kisses from her ankle to her knee. “Taste like her too. Are you sure you‘re not her?”

MC giggles; she can’t help it. His kisses tickle and his words are light. He leans over the bed and this time she lets him; laying back herself and resting her weight on her elbows. She expects him to kiss her and isn’t entirely wrong- instead of her lips, he plants a kiss in the center of her chest. He travels further down, trailing kisses from her chest to her stomach and-

_Oh_

She gasps when he spreads her legs, a wicked grin breaking out across his face.

“You sound just like her too.”

He sinks his head down between her thighs, face completely out of her line of vision. All she can see are the hands he uses to pry open her thighs and a shock of auburn hair where they meet. The same auburn hair she buries her fingers in at the feel of his hot breath against her cunt. He runs his tongue over her wetness, so slowly that it might as well be torture. She’s been waiting for this all day…no…for weeks. To say she’s ready for this is an understatement. She wants nothing more than for him to fuck her into the mattress and knows that he will if she says so. Today is his birthday, though, and this is his treat.

She wants to grind her hips into his touches, wants to tangle their bodies like her fingers in his hair. He has a hold on her legs, though and every time she moves he buries himself deeper. She whines when he stops and he lifts his head up to look at her, giving her a sultry wink as he takes off his gloves with his teeth. He slips in a finger and returns his lips to her folds, licking and sucking in the practised way that more than once has turned her into a shivering wreck.

He stops before she can cum and she wonders if she did something wrong, only for him to drag off his shirt and reach for his belt. She sits up onto her knees and cups his face in her hands.

“Anything you want,” she says, wanting nothing more than for this to be the best gift he receives today. It can easily be replicated, that much is true, but she trusts her body to say the things that she feels embarrassed to out loud; that she’s grateful to him for being born; that the world is a better, more interesting place with him in it.

“Well,” he says, a blush breaking out across his face. “There is. One. Thing.”

He takes a couple of steps away from her and kicks off the remainder of his clothes, all while she watches in curiosity. It’s rare that he indulges her like this and she wonders what he means to ask of her.

She remains curious even as he lays back against the pillows, naked as the day he was born and motioning for her to come closer. At first she crawls up the bed to sit beside him, but he shakes his head.

“No. Not there. I have a comfier seat for you right here.”

Only then does she grasp his meaning and blushes, sitting to rearrange her weight and straddle him, inhaling sharply at the feel of his breath on her pussy. She leans forward, reaching for his hard cock and squeezing her fingers around it as Julian sucks at her clit.

“No fair,” he gasps, running his tongue over her slit and earning a hiss of pleasure from her. She was close before and the added gravity is tipping her over the edge.

It’s not that she’s inexperienced; they’ve done far more adventurous things in the bedroom than this. This is the first time in a while, though, that she’s wanted so badly to uphold her end of this particular bargain.

She tries to focus on pumping her hand up and down his shaft, brushing her thumb over the tip on the way up, though it’s hard to draw her attention away from the way he reaches to squeeze her ass.

She loves his hands; she could spend hours thinking of how many lives they have saved. Right now, though, she curses them-curses the indelicate way he grips her skin and sucks her cunt.

She drags off the mask and presses her lips to his cock, wanting to return the favour and failing. Somehow, even Julian’s sordid fantasies involve pleasing her and she’s not sure how to feel about it.  

 “Oh fuck,” she hisses, certain that she’ll burn to ashes from pleasure before the evening is done.

Deliberately or not, he eases off his touches before she can come. She plants a hand on the bed, unable to distract herself with his cock anymore.

“MC?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, climbing up off his face and moving to straddle his waist. He’s not nearly as composed now that she can see him-cheeks red and eyes glazed with pleasure.

“What for?” He purrs.

“It’s your birthday,” she says, reaching down to give his cock a few gentle strokes, “and I’m being selfish.”

He laughs at that, reaching for her hand and kissing the knuckles.

“I’d have it no other way,” he says, linking his fingers in hers as she readjusts her weight and sinks all the way down onto his cock. 

She rolls her hips, grinding her clit against him as she rides him. He closes his eyes and squeezes her hand, his grip growing tighter and tighter every time she takes him in completely. He reaches his free hand to squeeze her breast, bucking his own hips into hers every time they collide.

She bounces harder and faster, unable to move her body any faster and breaking out in a sweat from the exertion. Her calves will ache in the morning and perhaps they do even now; the boundary between pleasure and pain means nothing to her in this moment. All she can think about is taking him deeper-chasing the dragon and her own kind of high.

She leans forward as she comes, pressing one hand against the bed frame and pressing her hips into his, gasping as her body pulses and quivers, tightening against his cock so forcefully that it’s only a matter of moments before he’s twitching inside her.

Energy spent, she collapses on his chest, relishing the fact that his body is as hot and sweaty as her own. The room is silent now but for the sound of their breathing and Julian’s heartbeat against her ear. For a while they say nothing at all, happy instead to catch their breaths and ride out the pleasure. It’s with a great degree of reluctance that she finally climbs off him and rests her head against the pillows.

“Happy birthday,” she murmurs at last, closing her eyes as he rolls over onto her, resting his head in her breasts.

Perhaps it’s the orgasm, but happiness wells within her. She’s glad she didn’t buy him booze; happy she conspired with Portia. She’s almost glad that her mind fell blank at the prospect of buying something meaningful.

“You know, time zones and everything, it’s still my birthday tomorrow as well.”

“I take it you liked your present.”

He cackles at that.

“Like it? I loved it.”

It doesn’t escape her notice that he says it while holding her close. It’s not about the sex; it never was. His true present is her heartbeat against his ears; the breath in her lungs and heat of her body.

There’s just one problem; a niggling thought at the back of her mind that grows increasingly clear with every second that ticks by. A fact she cannot ignore as she strokes her fingers through his hair, relishing the weight of his body on hers and heat of his breath against her skin.

She’s going to have to top this next year.


	7. Showing off (Zen)

_Zen is the first April entry for my 2019 year of smut!_

_I finished this fic on Christmas day, so I guess it’s a super, super late gift haha. Seriously, though, I’ve never seen a fic with this concept and have wanted to write it for a long ass time._

**Mystic Messenger | Zen x MC | Explicit**

* * *

“I have to admit…it’s bigger than I thought it’d be.”

MC peers around the trailer, from the couch in the far corner to the kitchenette. As his manager, she knows she shouldn’t be surprised; she was the one who organised it after careful consideration. Even so, there’s worlds of difference between floor plans and the real thing and no point in denying that this new trailer is easily as big as Zen’s apartment.

She walks from the entrance to the dressing table, running her hand across the empty space and opening each drawer. The trailer is new and all but empty, the fridge bare and no blankets on the bed. MC would go so far as to call it bare, but knows better than to complain. Once production picks up, this trailer will be chaos and it’s best to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.

She’s drawn out of her contemplation by warm arms around her waist and lips against her ear.

“It’s perfect,” Zen purrs, leaning over her shoulder to peer at their reflections in the dressing table mirror. “Did you plan this?”

“Plan…what?”

Zen’s gaze darts from their reflection in the mirror to the bed behind them.

“I…no,” she says, blush rising to her cheeks. “I…”

She had assumed there would be a sliding door or boundary of some other description between the two. In reality the bed sits in full view of the mirror, every inch of it visible.

“I wish I did.”

She’s been dating him long enough to know his preferences; has shared a bed with him long enough to know exactly where this is going.

Zen is an exhibitionist through and through, sending her pictures of his dick long before they ever kissed. It’s the norm now for him to peel back his shirt and take picture after picture of his naked body as every bump of his hips sends her forwards across the bed. They’ve joked more than once that if his career ever tanks they’d make a fortune as porn stars and, as such, MC knows exactly what he’s thinking as they stand in front of the dressing table mirror.

He reaches up to unbutton her blouse and she quickly claps his hands away, earning a confused glance.

“MC?”

“Just a second…”

She rushes from one end of the trailer to the other, drawing the curtains shut and locking the front door. She enjoys the thrill of almost being caught, but this might well be a turning point in Zen’s career and she would much rather it be talked about for completely different reasons.

She walks over to Zen, eyeing her reflection as she reaches for her shirt. She never once breaks eye contact, unfastening each of the buttons so slowly that she can all but taste the anticipation in the air. She loves sex, but loves tormenting her lovers even more and looks him straight in the eye as she reaches for the last button. His gaze shifts from her exposed bra to their doppelgangers in the mirror and he reaches both hands to cup her face, giving in wholeheartedly to temptation.

They kiss every day and his lips are more than familiar, but today they send a shiver up her spine. It’s as if they have not touched or spoken in many years and she reaches for his shoulders as he backs her towards the bed. She lands softly against the pillows, glancing at her flushed cheeks and exposed bra in the adjacent mirror before laying her eyes on her boyfriend, who is currently in the process of pulling off his shirt. He normally wears form fitted clothes, though it’s not nearly as satisfying as his bare body, with every muscle on display.

His body is perfect and there’s no use in denying it. MC couldn’t take her eyes off him the first time she saw him naked. She had always been skeptical that perfect bodies existed outside of photoshop and spray paint, yet there he was, naked before her. She feels a different sort of admiration now that she is his manager and all too aware of the hard work that goes into not only creating but maintaining it. She does not blame him for photographing his chest at particularly flattering angles, nor admiring himself in shirtless photographs. She certainly does not blame him for looking over his shoulder at his reflection in the dressing table mirror and flexing his muscles, practically drinking in the sight of his own back.

He turns back to her, reaching up her skirt and towards the hem of her underwear, dragging them right off and dropping them to the floor. She reaches to shield her cunt automatically, which only draws a smile to his face. Even now, even here, she falls victim to modesty.

He reaches for his belt and zipper, leaning his head to one side as she gently moves her hand from between her legs and spreads her legs wide, a blush creeping across her face at the combination of the draught and view of herself in the mirror. Zen’s body obstructs the view of her pussy, but her spread legs are quite visible at either side of his hips. She looks away from the mirror, listening to the gentle rustle of the remainder of Zen’s clothes hitting the floor and the tip of his cock brushing against her slit, however briefly.

“Baby…you’re so wet for me.”

She doesn’t doubt it for a second and reaches up to coax him onto the bed. He sits down beside her, the heat of his body at complete contrast to the cool air against her exposed slit, and leans down to kiss her lips. He hooks his fingers in the last of her shirt buttons and casts it aside, pressing his hand over the one she holds against his chest.

“Come here,” he whispers, lifting her up onto her knees and sitting behind her, one hand firm against her waist and the other holding onto her arm.

She glances across at herself; at the lace of her bra and soft hair between her thighs. If she’s honest, she would rather switch places and admire Zen’s body over her own. When she looks at herself, all she sees are the flaws-her chubby thighs and the swell of her stomach. Zen’s body is perfect and she averts her gaze as he reaches up to unhook her bra and tosses it over the bed. She’s naked now-they both are- his dick resting against her ass and his hands caressing her breasts.

“Baby,” he whispers in her ear, “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back much longer.”

She wants to tell him not to hold back, to let go and just fuck her. He cups his hand over her breast, though, and ghosts his lips over her shoulder.

“Look at us,” he whispers, “we make a perfect set, don’t you think?”

“I…”

She glances across at their reflections and nods, even if the same concern lingers at the back of her mind. He could have any woman he wants and she hates the idea that he might have settled for her.

He reaches down to her thighs, easing her legs open and running his fingers across her clit. She sighs into his touches, resting her body against his as he slips a finger inside.

“Z-Zen,” she says, closing her eyes, “Zen, I…”

She wants to tell him to take her then, to push her down and obscure her from view. Their faces are obscured in all videos and photographs and seeing herself so clearly is both new and overwhelming. She had expected Zen to be the one sitting naked in front of the mirror and isn’t sure she enjoys the spotlight on herself.

“MC,” he says, “could it be that you’re feeling shy?”

He’s pouting and she can’t help but feel embarrassed.

“It’s just…wouldn’t you rather see yourself, instead of me? You’re much-“

“Huh? What does that mean? Do you think I would have sat you there if I didn’t want to look at you?”

He sounds offended and her heart sinks.

“No, I’m…”

“Look, baby,” he says, pointing to the mirror, “look.”

She looks up at herself, at both of them, watching her own reactions every time Zen slips his fingers inside of her. She leans back into his hips, sighing at the feel of his cock against her back.

“Zen,” she murmurs. “Zen please…”

He leans over to bite her neck, pulling his hands away from her body and reaching out one to secure her arm. His grip is strong and she obeys as he leans her forward, taking his cock into his hand and teasing it against her slit. She rocks her hips backwards, taking him in as much as she is able. Her current position leaves her all too aware of every inch.

He responds in kind, taking her other arm with his free hand and squeezing her tightly as he bumps his hips against her ass. She sees it all in the mirror-her breasts bouncing with the particularly hard thrusts, her hips grinding back into his. She sees the fog of lust in Zen’s eyes as he drives himself into her; a hazy look that she’s sporting herself.

The woman in the mirror does not look like her; she doesn’t recognize herself even if she can feel every sensation. There’s no room for self consciousness and she leans back into Zen, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the heat of his breath against her neck and growing wetness between her thighs.

She feels it when he comes, the twitch of his cock inside her and warmth spreading across her thighs. She sees the trickle as he pulls out of her, hears the wet sound as he pushes her over onto her back and stretches her legs over his shoulders. She cannot see her reflection as he takes those final deep thrusts to send her over the edge. She reaches for the bedcovers and arches her back from the bed, waves of pleasure spreading all of the way from her stomach to her legs and leaving her all but incoherent.

She closes her eyes to enjoy the moment, the heat of their connected bodies and smell of sex in the air. When he finally unsheathes himself from her, she lets out a sigh, feeling his seed spilling out of her and onto the bedcovers.

“This might be a problem,” he says, easing her legs down onto the bed and laying down beside her.

“Oh?”

“I don’t think I’ll never want to leave this trailer.”

She leans into him, pleasure making way for fatigue.

“As your manager, I have to say it’s a bad idea.”

“And as my girlfriend?”

He pokes her in the face, shooting her that perfect movie star smile when she opens her eyes.

“As your girlfriend…”

She considers it.

“As your girlfriend I agree.”


	8. Lessons Learned (Saizo)

_Saizo is the last April entry on my 2019 Year of Smut. This is actually a plot bunny I’ve had for a while, though it played out slightly differently (Yukkins spotted the rope burn marks on MC but only assumed it was training, when in reality it was something quite different). I changed it around as a kind of love letter to otome in general, since the further I dive into the fandom, the more I find people gaining confidence in their creativity and sexuality. ~~I also really love the idea of MC as anything but a blushing virgin.~~_

**_Saizo x MC | SLBP | Explicit_ **

* * *

The candles are flower scented and flicker occasionally in the darkness of the room. Behind the confines of her blindfold, MC can see the amber light and shifts against the floor, moaning as the bright red ropes used to bind her limbs chafe against her skin. Despite the coarseness of the fabric, her wrists rest comfortably underneath her head: her legs spread eagled and a single, fine thread of fabric tightly rubbing against her folds if ever she moves.

A part of her wonders how she got into this. The majority doesn’t care.

One thing is for certain: it began with Yukimura.

Yukimura has always been passionate about training; that much is obvious to anyone. Saying he cares deeply about improving his skills on the battlefield adds as little to everyday conversation as a description of the weather. Even so, MC goes out to the training field every day with snacks and every day is impressed by his boundless enthusiasm. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t push his body to the limit, whether it’s sprinting from one marker to another, lifting heavy weights or both concurrently. He is a force of nature and immeasurably strong…which is exactly why it was so odd to find him tied up and wriggling on the floor.

“And you hold it tight, like this!”

At some point Yukimura had had his wrists bound, all while Saizo leaned over and looped his fingers around the rope.

“Tighter!”

Saizo raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?”

Yukimura sucked in a single deep breath before nodding, pulling his wrists against his bindings.

Something about it left MC unable to do anything except stare, watching Yukimura drag at the ropes while Saizo grinned impishly behind him.

It was Sasuke who spotted her first, rushing over to help himself to dango and alerting the others in the process. Saizo was only too enthusiastic to whisk a couple of skewers from the plate, leaving Yukimura to sit on his knees and tug at the ropes behind his back..

“What are you doing?”

“We’re…” Yukimura sucked in a deep breath and wriggle. “We’re preparing for hostage situatio-“

In an attempt to free himself, he had stretched his arms around his waist. Unfortunately, he had also completely misjudged his balance and fell over onto his front with the grace of a sack of potatoes.

“Honestly, dear,” Saizo sighed, reaching for his shoulder and lifting him into a kneeling position once again. “Are you even trying?”

“It’s like you’re enjoying this,” Yukimura muttered, only to hiss in discomfort as Saizo tightened the ropes.

MC considered every time she had been stolen away from the Sanada; every strong smelling cloth crushed against her lips and blade held to her throat. Learning how to escape from such situations would be more than useful and her contemplation of the matter must have been written all over her face, for Saizo poked at her shoulder.

“In your own little world, little lady?”

“Ah! Sorry,” she spluttered, “I was just thinking about how helpful it would be to know such things.”

She was being sincere and remained so even as Saizo raised an eyebrow and Yukimura blushed a bright red.

“If that’s what you’re into, little lady, who am I to refuse?”

She was so excited at the prospect of learning a new skill that she thanked him several times, realising how her words might be misunderstood much later. Even so, when he arrived in her room with an armful of ropes and promise to teach her a lesson, she made no attempt to correct him.

And so it is that she sinks her teeth into the gag he fixed around her mouth and grinds her hips, sighing at the ripples of pleasure that she gains as a result. He drags off her blindfold and she stares up into his handsome face, taking in his mischievous grin and careful fingers.

She tries to speak, but settles instead for making incoherent noises against the gag, which seems to please him, for he strokes the very tips of his fingers along each of her toes. He traces them along the inside of her thighs, across her heated core and up along her stomach until he reaches her chin.

He strokes his finger along her jawline and her stomach churns with anticipation. She doesn’t know how he expects her to last for much longer considering he has only touched her in the briefest of fashions and already she’s close.

If she knows anything about him, though, it’s that he always has a plan and tonight is no exception to the rule.

“Tell me, little lady,” he says, reaching for the candle she used to light her room. “Shall we begin?”

He hooks his finger under the gag and looks her straight in the eyes. MC stares right back at him, daring him to continue and slip one finger close enough to her teeth that she might nip at the skin.

Finally, when she’s starting to think he’s never going to move, he tips the candle and allows a drop of hot wax to land on her collarbone. He tips it again, lower, and MC squeezes her eyes shut as it dribbles over the sensitive skin of her nipple.

Each drop of wax shifts her focus away from the ache between her thighs and Saizo’s pace is far from consistent. He cannot regulate the way the candle drips or the wax lands; she recovers from the shock of one, just for another to land mere moments later. Sometimes he leaves her waiting and waiting, only to indulge her with stinging heat when she least expects it.

She loses her awareness of each individual drop of wax, far more conscious of the rising heat of her body than any individual splash. She needs the heat, needs the pain.

Saizo seems to notice, for he sets aside the candle with a smug expression, making a point to look her in the eye before leaning over and blowing it out.

He slips one finger underneath the gag and over her lips, dragging off the fabric in one swift motion.

“Now, tell me,” he says, tossing it to one side and lifting a blade. “What have you learned, little lady?”

He scrapes the knife’s edge against the dried wax on the inside of her thighs and MC gasps at the mixture of sensations.

“Y….” she manages to make out, only to lose herself in the increased sensitivity.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Y-“

“Louder!”.

She wishes she could only reach him and wrap her arms around him. She has tricks of her own, after all. As if in response, he smiles and cuts the rope that keeps her legs in such a restrictive position and she stretches them out in relief, flexing her toes and easing her overstretched muscles. Saizo is on the move too, placing the knife back and lifting a riding crop.

MC has no idea where it came from, only that her mouth grows dry at the very thought of what he plans to do with it. She bites her bottom lip and watches him trail his fingers along it in almost exactly the sort of way she wants him to touch her body. Saizo can make her jealous of even the most mundane things, it seems, from chopsticks at dinner to the clothes he wears. She has no idea how he’s managing to make her jealous of a riding crop, but from the way he smirks at her she’s certain that it’s deliberate.

“Now, tell me,” he says, stretching out the riding crop where she can see. “What have you learned?”

Truthfully, she’s learned a great deal from him ever since they became lovers. She knows more about her own body and his than she might have believed possible, has learned an almost shameful amount of techniques to pleasure herself.

She also knows exactly what to say next.

“Nothing. I’ve learned nothing,” she says, before gasping at the impact of the riding crop hitting the inside of her thighs.

“Are you quite certain of that?”

She laughs and then she hears it; another swish of the riding crop in the air, followed by a thud as it makes contact with her flesh. It leaves a stinging, throbbing sensation in its wake, yet she finds she hungers for more.

He can control the rhythm of the riding crop far better than the candle, which he uses to his advantage, throwing all of his weight forward and letting her believe that he’s about to flog her most severely, just to step back right at the last second and gently trail it across her skin.

“Look at me,” he commands.

She doesn’t know when she closed her eyes, only that when she opens them he’s abandoned the riding crop in favour of his dick, stroking the soft skin and tempting her with its hardness. She bites her lip, wanting it inside her; willing him to bury it deep.

“You’re a terrible student,” he says, shuddering at his own touch. “I don’t think you deserve this.”

MC tugs at the robes that bind her wrists, just to whimper when they hold. She wants to reach out and touch him more than anything; to drag him onto her and have him fuck her senseless, but he ignores every noise she makes.

“I deserve it,” she protests, her voice little more than a sob. “I do, I do!”

He ups his own strokes and makes a noise of approval.

“I might just stand here and make you watch,” he says, smiling at the way she thrashes against the ropes. “That’s what happens to naughty little ladies, after all.”

He lets go of his cock and reaches for the knife again, cutting the ropes that bind her wrists. She sighs in relief as they are released and he sits down beside her, allowing her to run her fingers through his hair and drag him in for a hungry kiss.

He laughs when she pushes him over onto his back, more than capable of countering her and deliberately holding back. He smiles up at her as she holds his wrists to the floor, the same impish grin as when he tormented Yukimura.

“You should know,” he says, “naughty little ladies are the best of all.”

Not so long ago she wouldn’t have believed him, but as it is she is inclined to agree. She agrees as she straddles his waist and loosens his clothes; agrees as she laces her fingers with his by way of an anchor. She definitely agrees with him as she lowers herself onto his dick, sighing in delight at a different sort of stinging heat.

She shifts her weight and takes him in over and over, completely unsure what to do with her hands and making it up as she goes along. She snatches them from his and runs them along her breasts, which bounce from the force and feel so inexplicably  _good_  when she clutches them. She tangles her fingers in her hair, gathering it above her shoulders in an attempt to feel even more naked.

Saizo holds onto her, holding onto her hips and egging her on, far more enamoured by the sight of her unraveling than he is the feel of her riding his cock. They both remember the moment he took her virginity; her blushes and apologies at how little she knew of sex. She is different now- greedy in the bedroom and only too eager to chase her pleasures every time their bodies touch. She knows exactly how best to position herself to ride out the build of her release; isn’t embarrassed anymore when it takes her over. She doesn’t shield her face anymore and mutter an apology. Now she embraces it, gripping Saizo’s hands and squeezing her eyes shut as her walls clench so tightly around him that it leaves him gasping too.

Now that her eyes are shut, she can focus on her other senses, from her fluttering stomach to the cold air against her back. She can smell each and every candle, a sweet scent intermingled with their own.

She takes a deep breath, the candlelight almost unbearably bright when she finally opens her eyes again. At some point Saizo reached one of her hands to his lips and runs his lips over her knuckles.

She leans forward, as if to climb up from him, and he releases her hand. She doesn’t get up, though, instead reaching across the room for the ropes he cut from her.

He raises an eyebrow as she turns them over in her hands, looping the rope around one finger and then another, an unreadable expression across her face.

He lifts his wrists without hesitation, crossing them over to make them easier to bind.

“Easy, now.”

His earlier question lies unspoken; little more than an echo at the back of their minds.

_What have you learned, little lady?_

She replies, not with words, but the snap of a rope.


	9. Painted in Red (Jihyun Kim x MC x Jumin Han)

_This is the fourth Jumin x MC x V threeway I’ve written and I honestly can’t get enough of them. They’re perfect for one another in every way.This fic is one of the original ideas I had in mind for[Violets are Blue](http://fromthedeskofelizabeththird.tumblr.com/post/152690382000/violets-are-blue-13)  ~~and more than a smidge inspired by V’s new party suit~~. I hope you enjoy it!_

_**Mystic Messenger | Jumin x V x MC | Explicit** _

**_MC just can’t decide._ **

* * *

If MC had a flaw, it was her indecision, from spending too long examining restaurant menus to concluding which colours suited her best. In retrospect it was a miracle that she downloaded the messenger app at all, much less happened to do so at exactly the right time.

After a year passed and the dust settled, one observation remained. In all of her time on the messenger and alongside the RFA, she had never gone on a date with any of its members, a fact that left her friends horrified on occasions they weren’t bewildered. What was so terribly wrong with her that not one of them had taken her fancy? How was she unmoved by the college student’s need for love and attention? Hadn’t she seen the appeal of the handsome actor?

The truth was a little more complicated, though felt incredibly simple to MC. It wasn’t indifference to the RFA and its members that left her single after so long, but her inability to decide between two equally good options.

It was Jumin’s quiet and all consuming passion that caught her attention first. She concluded early on that it was easy to laugh at his social inadequacies without any attempt to read between the lines. Jumin was always the first to answer the phone; always the first to offer up advice and always the first to shrug off his true feelings. It was easy to call him a robot and laugh at his clumsy displays of love than try to understand them.

And then there was V, the mysterious leader she did not even meet until two weeks after that first party. He was different to Jumin in almost every way and identical in several more. Jumin was as comfortable in his emotions as a child in adult sized shoes, while V wore only the pretty ones on his sleeve. They complemented one another perfectly, balancing out one another’s faults and drawing emphasis to their finer qualities. To state a preference would divide her heart in two and almost certainly cost her them both.

Useful, then, that making decisions did not come naturally to her.

She would pose naked in Jihyun’s studio, legs parted as she raked her fingers through her hair.

She would slip her feet out of her shoes and run her toes along Jumin’s crotch as they dined, drinking in his reaction like the fine wine at their table.

She would dig her nails into Jumin’s back; would usher Jihyun over to hold her in his arms instead of at a distance. She sent dirty photographs to Jumin from Jihyun’s bed, sent Jihyun risqué texts from Jumin’s bathtub, content in the knowledge that each was acutely aware of the other and only stepped in to enable her indulgence.

One year after her arrival she went home with both of them.

In the past year she had become an expert at reading between the lines. She knew Jumin’s true motives for offering to escort her home; was only too eager to accept Jihyun’s offer to join them.

Jumin’s love was bold and all consuming, Jihyun was almost too eager to please. To sleep with one was a wonderful treat. To have them both bordered on hedonism.

The journey to Jihyun’s house was almost awkward, all three of them knowing their true intentions and making a conscious effort to hide them. Driver Kim had almost certainly seen worse during the course of his career, but this was a secret they did not intend to share.

“I think we should organise a fashion show in the new year,” said Jihyun, redirecting conversation to hide his nerves. “I had a talk with Tiffany about her new diamond collection and it could be an excellent lead.”

MC let his words wash over her like water, thinking of diamonds even as her dress hit the bedroom floor.

She trembled as Jumin slipped his tie over her eyes, not out of nervousness but anticipation. He reached for her shoulders and she leaned into the contact, enjoying how warm and achingly familiar his hands were. She was reminded of roguish touches and lips across the back of her neck, though only temporarily, for he adjusted his grip to turn her once, twice and then again on the spot, letting go halfway through the final turn. MC raised her arms to steady herself, though stumbled anyway, her heart racing at the prospect of falling.

She had come to know V’s home very well, from his cluttered coffee table to the trinkets on his wall to the smell of a house left empty more often than not. She found herself disorientated, though, the moment she regained her balance. Suddenly the room felt enormous and entirely unfamiliar.

“Where are you?” She called, turning on the spot. “Jumin? Jihyu-“

She thought she heard movement and grabbed in that direction, ultimately snatching at nothing but thin air.

“Are you there?” She laughed, turning to her left and reaching out her arms. “Where ar-“

Her heart skipped a beat as her fingertips brushed against some sort of fabric and she took a step forward to get a better hold, only for something small and light to fall into her hand. She gripped it tightly, running her fingers across the fabric and taking in its shape. It was smooth and carefully embroidered, though perhaps most importantly shaped like a bow tie. The same pale pink bow tie that V had up until recently been wearing at his collar. She lifted it to her nose to make sure, smiling smugly at the familiar scent and leftover heat of his body.

She wrapped the fabric around her wrist and stretched out her hand to where she had originally caught the bowtie. Somewhat unsurprisingly, there was nothing there and she took a tentative step forward, freezing in place at the feel of someone draping fabric across her shoulders.

She reached out to touch it, recognising the size and scent as Jumin’s dress shirt.

“I know you’re there!” She said, hugging the shirt against her shoulders and taking two steps backwards, quickly stretching out her arm as someone reached to take the shirt back from her shoulders.

For a second or two, she grabbed at nothing, only for that someone to move closer, sighing in delight as she ran her hands over their exposed chest. She was only too happy to indulge them, flattening her hands to explore their body and map out every detail.

If she hadn’t already recognised him from his discarded shirt, touching him would have been a dead giveaway. Jumin was broader than Jihyun and deceptively well built, warm as a furnace and smooth to the touch. He was as perfectly built for snuggling on cold nights as he was to grip onto during sex and MC smirked in recognition.

“I see you there, Jumin,” she said, overjoyed when she lifted the blindfold to find her suspicions were correct. He really was standing there, naked from the waist upwards and looking more than ready to discard the rest.

She reached out to unfasten his belt and zipper, crouching down to her knees and pulling his trousers to his ankles.

“You know,” said Jihyun, “I almost think you wanted to get caught.”

Jumin didn’t bother to deny it, not even as he kicked off his trousers and took MC’s spot in the center, happy to be blindfolded with his own tie.

“Now,” said Jihyun, placing his hands on Jumin’s shoulders and motioning for MC to do the same. “One! Two! Three…”

Just as before, MC and Jihyun let go during the final turn, using the momentum to move away from him and hide on opposite sides of the room.

Without the blindfold her surroundings were all too familiar and she watched in delight at Jumin’s transformation. Between his duties at C&R and as a senior member of the RFA it was unusual to see him so vulnerable. It had taken her a long time to get used to seeing him naked, much less blindfolded and fumbling in the dark.

Jihyun was better acquainted with this side of him and wasted no time in creeping over. He patted Jumin on the back, only to dodge his outstretched hands and crawl back over to MC, tapping her on the shoulder and motioning towards Jumin, who still reached out into space. He gestured at the straps of her bra, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up when she reached up to unhook its fastenings. She handed it to him and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter before creeping back over to Jumin. For the briefest moment, she thought he heard Jihyun’s footsteps, for he turned in that direction and reached out so quickly that Jihyun barely had time to react. He hooked MC’s bra over his fingers and attempted to make a quick exit, only to freeze in place when Jumin patted a hand to his head with a smile.

“Found you, MC,” he said, casting aside the bra and sliding his palms over Jihyun’s chest, clearly searching for the curve of MC’s breasts and letting out a sound of confusion when he felt a shirt under his fingertips instead of a naked body.

He raised the blindfold, sighing in a resigned fashion when he saw Jihyun laughing in front of him instead of MC.

“You know the rules!”

Jumin reached down and dragged his underwear to his ankles, stepping out of them with far more grace than he had with his trousers. MC couldn’t help but chuckle at his near perfect posture even as he stood there in nothing but his socks. He was growing hard, perhaps as a result of MC’s near state of nudity or the knowledge of what was to come.

He lowered the blindfold back down over his eyes, fixing it in place before allowing them to spin him again. This time around, he caught his balance far faster and barely wobbled at all.

Jihyun returned to his starting position, creeping up behind Jumin as he blindly searched the room.

“I have a confession to make,” said Jumin.

“Oh?”

“I really did want to get caught.”

Jihyun laughed, standing up straight and making no effort to avoid his grabs.

”I can relate to that,” he said, reaching for his shirt buttons as Jumin lifted the blindfold.

Of the two of them, Jihyun was the most modest when it came to his body. He preferred admiring MC and Jumin to being on the receiving end. His reasoning was only too clear on the occasions he did remove his clothes.

MC knew only a few details about V’s childhood and his mother’s unfortunate demise. Most importantly, she knew it involved a fire. It didn’t come as a surprise to her, therefore, when she first saw the marks across his torso: patches of raised skin that did not quite match the rest. He didn’t like to go into detail about it and would move her hands away if she touched the scars for too long but even so, she thought it was beautiful; a spider web across his body that he did not permit just anyone to see.

He dropped his shirt to the floor, eyes darting around the room so that he didn’t have to look them both in the face. He was only too happy to take the blindfold, fixing it in place in the practised fashion MC had come to expect from him.

Out of the three of them, Jihyun had the most experience when it came to losing his sight. He was almost blind when they first met and, even though his surgery had been a resounding success, it was impossible to dismiss the impact it had had on him both as an artist and a person. He had gained a morbid sort of curiosity when it came to the five senses, learning to sculpt and incorporate music into his work. He liked to paint blindfolded and try to paint concertos and as such had the biggest advantage of anyone in the room.

He was lighter than Jumin and far easier to spin, but also far less disorientated the moment they let him go. He reached out to gauge his surroundings in a well practised manner and made his way to the kitchen counter with barely any hesitation.

MC was far more interested about having fun than she was being the winner, a sentiment only half shared by Jumin, who had already developed a strategy. He positioned himself behind her, hands firm on her shoulders and gaze fixed on V. She knew his plan even without an explanation, and promptly faked a cough, the warmth of his hands on her not quite enough to distract her from exactly how close she was to his dick.

As expected, Jihyun turned to face them, turning this way and that to trace the noise. Once he was facing the right direction, she made a point to cough again, earning a squeeze from Jumin and smile from Jihyun.

She almost felt guilty as he reached out to touch her, only for her to duck out of the way.

“There you are, M-,” he said, reaching out to where she had previously been, only to find himself on the receiving end of the same trick he had played on Jumin.

“Well played!” He said, with an expression of genuine delight. “I think you’re getting better at this game.”

“I  _might_ have done a little studying.”

“You can study blind man’s buff?”

MC didn’t know why she was surprised; if anyone had the resources and determination to study playground games it was Jumin.

“Of course,” he said, sounding more than a little proud of his endeavours. “There seem to be a lot of books on the topic, but I had Assistant Kang narrow them down.”

Jihyun and MC shared a sideways glance, sharing the same unspoken observation.

_Ah, there it is._

“In any case,” said MC, “you lost, V. Off with them!”

Jihyun reached for his belt, keeping eye contact as he tugged at its fastenings. He dropped it to the floor with a heavy clunk and then reached for his fly.

“I love the suit,” said MC, admiring the lightness of the fabric and subtle additions. He had been wearing a threadbare cardigan the first time they met and it would be an understatement to call the new suit an improvement.

He laughed as he kicked off his pants, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He did not stop there, though, abandoning them alongside the rest of his clothes.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said, untying the blindfold and taking a few steps towards her. “I chose it just for you.”

“Really?”

“No.”

He pinched her nose.

“But I’m glad you approve.”

He draped the tie over her eyes once again and she reached out for his shoulder, heart fluttering at the knowledge that the game was over and the real fun starting.

“MC,” said Jihyun , “which of us is the better kisser?”

“I…”

Jumin leaned forward and rested both hands on her shoulders, lips ghosting the back of her neck. She bit her bottom lip, stifling a moan.

“The truth is…”

They were doing it on purpose, tormenting her in the knowledge of her debilitating flaw.

She couldn’t decide even as they lowered her to the floor, sitting her on her knees and guiding her lips to one of their cocks. From the size and shape she was sure it was Jumin’s, and snaked her tongue across the soft skin, holding onto his legs to keep her balance. He carded his fingers through her hair and gasped when she sat up higher to run her lips from shaft to tip, reaching out her hand to squeeze the base as she sucked the head.

It had taken months for Jumin to allow her to go down on him. He considered it crude and distasteful and, while MC grew paranoid that he was discomforted by her and not the act itself, Jihyun merely shrugged it off. It was not, after all, far from the realms of possibility that his distaste for certain behaviours had the same point of origin as his demands that Jaehee cut off her hair and wear glasses she did not need. The specificity of it left her curious (and Jihyun almost certain) of how often he had caught his father in compromising situations in the course of his life. Whatever the case, it came to matter less and less over time. After a year of experimentation and discoveries, Jumin developed curiosities of his own.

Jihyun reached down to her hand on his leg and helped her take hold of his own cock, which was equally hard and in need of attention.

“MC,” said Jumin, “which of us is bigger?”

Even if she could decide, she quite deliberately did not, responding by lacing her fingers around Jihyun’s cock and taking Jumin into her mouth so deeply that he did not bother to stifle his moans.

She paid close attention to both of them, moving her hands and lips from one to the other, the sounds of her jerking them off only fractionally more of a turn on than their moans of encouragement. Sometimes she would hit a particular angle and earn a jumble of syllables; more than once they held onto her head to keep her in place.

If she had a complaint it was that she couldn’t see them. She could feel Jumin leaning further and further into her touches the closer he came; could hear Jihyun’s breath hitching in his throat every time she ran her tongue over his tip. She had seen them come undone more times than she could count and going without left her no choice but use her imagination, which only compromised her more.

She remembered the first time she allowed Jumin to come inside of her; the crushing kisses and frantic thrusts that left her quivering under him. Among other things, spending time alone with MC seemed to have left him curious about how it felt to be a philanderer, sending gifts to his mistress and completely unapologetically leaving her pregnant with his child.

She remembered Jihyun pushing her against the wall in a forgotten corner of his exhibition and driving her half mad with his fingers. He had looked more than a little smug as she bit at the hand he clasped over her mouth, slipping the other hand up her skirt and into her cunt so forcefully that it left her shuddering his hips between his hands and the wall.

She couldn’t see them, but wanted to believe they looked exactly as they had then- the memory of past trysts enough to leave her starved for their attention.

She let them lift her back up to her feet, wondering which of them it was that laced their fingers with hers and guided her through the door of what she assumed to be Jihyun’s bedroom. She recognised the faded scent of pipe smoke and perfume that lingered in every corner; the hardwood floor that provided the perfect acoustics on the nights she wore nothing but high heels.

As homes went, Jihyun and Jumin’s were almost as familiar as her own. Normally she could navigate without looking, rushing back and forth to fetch bottles of wine or answer the phone without a second glance. Now that she was reliant on an unknown guide, the room felt several times larger and more foreboding than it ever had before.

Someone eased her down onto the edge of the bed and loosened their hand from hers, someone else positioning themselves behind her to support her weight and keep her in a sitting position. She leaned into them, reaching down to hold onto the bed covers as the person previously holding onto her hand spread her legs and slipped off her underwear. The past year had left her well versed in depravity, but the rush of cool air against her heated folds still left her blushing.

From scent she gathered that Jumin was the one to perch behind her and Jihyun the one running his hands over the inside of her thighs. Jihyun was the one to run his tongue over her clit, rolling his tongue over the parts of her that crave attention the most, all while Jumin turned her head towards him to steal the gasps from her lips.

She couldn’t move anymore; couldn’t tear her attentions away from the combined sensations. It was never disappointing when Jihyun went down on her, but the blindfold across her eyes robbed her of distractions. She could think of nothing else but Jumin’s hungry lips on hers, sometimes grazing his teeth against her bottom lip and using her gasps as an opportunity to slip in his tongue and explore her mouth as Jihyun did her clit.

She could feel her thighs growing tighter and tighter, a coil deep inside of her that grew more unbearable with every passing second. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push them both away and have this moment to herself or drag them impossibly close. She dragged her lips away from Jumin as she came, crying out into the darkness as the feeling swallowed her whole.

Jihyun didn’t pull his lips away, coaxing more shudders from her as Jumin buried his lips in her neck.

She whined when both of them pulled away, leaving her cold and needy again even as aftershocks of pleasure ran through her.

“MC,” said Jihyun, as Jumin shifted his weight and gently lowered her onto her back, “which of us is the better lover?”

“I…”

She did not even bother to consider the answer, too taken by the sound of Jumin getting up from the bed.

“I…”

She fell silent even as Jihyun let go of her legs and Jumin took hold, guiding his tip into her.

She gripped onto the edges of the bed as he pushed into her, her pussy still quivering with pleasure and more than ready for him. She turned her head to the side and into the bed covers at his slow thrusts, taking her slowly until she took him to the hilt. From there he took her faster and deeper, the bed rocking from the force of his hips against hers.

“Please,” she said, the milliseconds between thrusts leaving her almost unbearably lonely, “please…I…”

He slowed down as if in response, reaching down to guide her back up the bed and onto all fours. She couldn’t tell anymore who was who; who kissed her on the lips before guiding her onto their cock; who it was that rubbed their finger over her clit before pushing into her. By then she could think of nothing but the feel of them both against her body, the sound of them losing all sense of pretense and taking her far more roughly than either would when alone.

She gasped raggedly, lost to her heated core and fluttering stomach. It was overwhelming, all consuming and she wouldn’t change it for anything. Every touch left her wanting more, unsatisfied even after she felt one of them stiffen behind her as his warmth spilled out. She wanted more even as the one in front of her yanked at her hair as their come dribbled down her throat.

She wanted more even as they curled up in the covers to catch their breath; peeling off the blindfold to admire their tangled limbs and naked bodies. She was not only indecisive but greedy to boot and only too enthusiastic about indulging in her worst qualities.

She couldn’t decide and never wanted to. She was content to spend forever torn between them physically and otherwise. Their affections might not last forever; one or more of them might move on.  In that moment, though, she wanted nothing more than to be dressed in diamonds and painted in red.


	10. Outside Eden (Asra)

_Asra is one of the guys for June in my year of smut. I wanted to make it kind of magical, but not so magical that it lost the side of his relationship with MC that I love the most…the domestic fluffy family stuff!_

**The Arcana | Asra x Apprentice | Explicit**

* * *

As a magician, MC has seen her share of enchantments.. **  
**

She has witnessed skies of burnished bronze; lakes of starlight; whispering forests. She has traced her fingers along smooth stone to feel the vibration of ancient magic; has closed her eyes to view the world through the eyes of birds and beasts. She has soared above the clouds and climbed to the top of tall trees; has watched the world from the top of tall towers and waded through oceans while her body remained dry.

Nothing, though, captivates her so much as Nopal. Whether it is the hazy sunlight through the window to the gentle scent of spices, there is always something new and beautiful to see and do. The magic shop has been her home for many years, but she is never so content as when she sleeps under scratchy covers in the silent cottage. She loves waking up to the sound of birdsong; loves the way refracted light dances across the walls. MC has experienced more of the world than most, but only during moments like this does she truly feel alive.

Today is no exception.

Today MC turns back towards the pillows to take in her lover’s rumpled curls, savouring every second of waking up before him. She cannot help but smile affectionately at the sight of him nestled in the covers, a contented expression across his face.

Sometimes they meet in dreams and leave their bodies behind, but last night MC spent the time alone, dreaming both of masquerades and memories. She is never quite sure which of her dreams really happened, only that it no longer matters when she wakes up in Asra’s arms, sharing both his warmth and heartbeat. She wonders what he dreams of when she isn’t there, oddly jealous of the characters in his dreams. If she is completely honest, she is jealous of a lot of things -from moonlight in his hair to the tea that warms him to the tips of his toes- and so it comes as no surprise when she finds she is jealous of his dreams too.

He is still dreaming even now, face buried in the pillows and one arm stretched out across the bed; the same arm that had been draped across her only minutes before. He frowned as she wriggled from his grip, his fingers still twitching as he searched for her. In sleep it was easy to see the boy he had once been and guilt washes over her at the idea of having to wake him up. Even so, she can’t resist running her fingers through his curls.

He leans into her touches almost instinctively, breaking out into a sleepy smile as he opens his eyes. He glances right and then left, lazily taking in their surroundings before rolling over onto his side.

“Come back to bed,” he murmurs, reaching out for her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs, “but I have to make breakfast. We need to set off soon.”

Vacations in Nopal are something of a luxury. She cannot leave the magic shop unattended for too long, nor rely too much on the generosity of friends. Muriel agreed to keep an eye on the area, but MC knows just as well as Asra that he would much rather stay as far from the public eye as possible. She and Asra both packed their bags before bed in the hopes of an early start, though such things are easier said than done. She is reluctant to leave Nopal at the best of times and even less so when it comes to leaving a warm bed.

“Not just yet,” murmurs Asra. “Five minutes.”

She slips her hand from his with a shake of her head.

“We need to eat breakfast. Muriel is waiting for us.”

“He’s used to us being late,” says Asra, shifting his weight across the bed and leaning over her shoulder to kiss her on the cheek.

“He shou-”

His body is so close to hers; his naked chest warm against her back. MC takes a deep breath, determined to ignore the goosebumps breaking out across her body.

“He shouldn’t be used to us being late,” she says, trying and failing to turn her attentions away from the kisses he trails down her neck- as soft and tickly as his hair against her jawline..

“MC,” he whispers, grazing his teeth over the purpling love bite at her collarbone. “Come back to bed.”

MC sighs into his touches, her expression crumpling into one of resignation.

“I hate it when you do that,” she says, reaching up to stroke his hair as he peppers her neck with kisses.

“Really, now?”

She can hear the mischief in his voice as he brushes his lips against her ear and so she turns to face him, accepting his lazy kisses and linking her arms around his neck.  

“Mhm…”

She deepens her kisses, reaching down to run her hands across his back. He moans when she grazes her nails across his skin, pushing her back onto the bed and lowering his body over hers.

For all her knowledge of spells, antidotes and charms, MC is never so enchanted as when their bodies intertwine. She does not bother hiding the longing in her touches and neither does he; a longing that lingers in their every thought and action. Perhaps she has always wanted him; she has forgotten so much of herself in the past few years that her old self is a stranger, but when it comes to Asra she is sure they agree. She wants to kiss him forever; to freeze time and leave this world forever. Every touch, every sigh leaves her more than willing to leave her body to rot as she wanders the magic realms for the rest of her days.

She hooks her leg around his waist, willing him closer. He nuzzles his lips into her neck and shoulder, leaving brand new bruises over the top of purpling ones, blooming across her skin like a bouquet of flowers. Her lips are swollen from kisses and she reaches for a handhold as he plants a kiss over her heart.

A morning breeze takes hold of the chimes by the window, filling the room with fragments of a musical score as Asra runs his tongue over her breasts. She runs her fingers through his hair; gentle touches as he lowers his lips across her chest and down towards her stomach.

She gasps at the first touch of Asra’s tongue against her clit, bucking her hips into his touches for fear that he will stop and leave her in free fall. Every second he breaks contact is too long; she is lonelier in those moments than she would ordinarily believe possible.

She closes her eyes as he writes his name with his tongue; absorbing every sound and sensation. Heat pools at the base of her spine, a pot threatening to spill over with each passing second. She can smell the spices she had planned to use at breakfast; can feel the balmy summer breeze through the open window. She reaches for his hair to hold him in place and he reaches for her hips, so casually that MC wonders if he has even noticed her thighs quivering around his ears.

She doesn’t know what came before; who they were before. Sometimes she even catches herself wondering if they were lovers then, too. Did they disappear from the magic shop for five minutes of pleasure? Did they spend the night together far from home? Did they roll together in the fields and woodland? She is jealous of her past self’s obscene secrets; the knowledge that at one point she knew so many different sides to Asra too much to bear.

The first time they slept together after her revival was almost embarrassingly frantic, from dragging at one another’s clothes to the fact that they were still half dressed and in a heap behind the shop counter when they came undone. She knows much more now than she did then; has seen Asra’s every colour and familiarized herself with his touch. She knows now that he gripped her tightly for fear that she might disappear into smoke. The longer she stays with him and his undivided attentions, the less she worries about past trysts. She is there now, in the present, as carefree and beautiful as a butterfly in his palm- delicate, perhaps, but unlikely to fly away.

He takes his time now, sucking her clit between his lips as if she were a ripe peach. MC comes before she realizes it’s happening; crashing waves of pleasure that leave her reminded of faraway shores. She can’t hold onto a single tangible thought; no longer cares about getting home on time‍.

Asra laughs at her increasingly tight grip on his hair and kisses the insides of her thigh.

“MC.”

“Hmm?”

“Look around you.”

She opens her eyes and glances around the room, gasping at the transformation taking place without her notice. There are vines now in every corner, stretching from floor to ceiling and spreading with every flutter of her stomach. Their spell books are hidden by leaves; the bedroom growing dark with every unfolding leaf. They shimmer with magic, blues and greens and rich purples, all of them primal and singing with the familiar thrum of magic-her magic.

She wonders if she should apologise, but Asra laughs again and climbs up to hover over her.

“Your magic…” He breathes. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

They both know he doesn’t. He rests his forehead against hers and kisses her so deeply that he steals the breath from her lips.

Their bodies fit together so perfectly; the heart they share never quite so light as when they touch. She wants to be his as much as she wants to be herself. He holds onto her hand even as he drives into her, bridging the gap between them completely. She runs her hands across his body, willing him to be closer, wishing with all her heart that they might stay like this forever. She keeps her eyes shut, aware of every sensation and sound. She can still hear the birds outside; still feel the scratchy blankets. More than anything, though, she hears their gasps every time their hips meet, sending shudders through her already overstimulated core.

It’s not long before she’s close and she grips her nails along his back, willing him go harder and faster and come with her. She doesn’t want to be alone when she comes undone.

They come together, heavy sighs and frozen limbs. MC still has her nails embedded in his back, holding him close as she tightens around him. They steal kisses long after the moment is over, still entwined and whole.

She whines when he pulls out and flops down on the bed beside her, both of them out of breath and staring at the ceiling.

“We’re going to have to do something about that,” he says, eyes darting around the room.

The vines have swallowed up much of the cottage, blocking out the sunlight and bursting into life. Where before there was only leaves, now there are flowers, bright and fragrant and shimmering in the darkness. The hues are no longer hers and hers alone. She recognizes Asra’s colours; Asra’s magic, which is now hers, too.

Long ago, someone told her that they were strongest together, and now she believes they are more beautiful too. She reaches out to the nearest flower, coaxing a bright blue butterfly onto her fingers.

“Later,” she says, all too aware of the irony that not so long ago she was the one urging him out of bed.

For now, at least, she is enchanted; happy to close her eyes and forget that there is a world beyond their Eden.


	11. Siren Song (Ray)

_This is Ray’s entry on the 2019 Year of smut! It also brings us quite nicely to the halfway point. ~~This year has gone so fast djkfgdgd~~._

_This one is probably one of the mildest in terms of smut, but I kept it on here anyway because I loved the conflict in it. I feel like whoever wrote Ray’s route neglected what would have been an incredible plot point, in that he was brainwashed enough to believe at varying points that being at Mint Eye and cleansed etc would save MC, and so falling for her would lead him to come to question so much of his belief system. It would have been so much more interesting if instead of focusing so much on Jekyll and Hyde and fractured personalities they had given him a similar story arc to Frollo and his weird obsession with Esmeralda._

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/146ca0474cf3d5fcb6256148f137abc8/tumblr_inline_pr4l4qIXJY1qbv8k6_400.gif)

**Mystic Messenger | Ray x MC | Explicit**

* * *

It had been a long time since Ray had set foot in a forest, let alone had the time to fully appreciate the feel of dirt under his feet. He wiped his brow and smeared grime across his sunburnt forehead, squinting up at the sky as a heron called out from the trees. He admired its gleaming plumage before kneeling at the riverside, clasping his hands together in its icy waters and washing the dirt from his face.

The water was so cold that it stole the air from his lungs, though it was not an unpleasant experience. He plunged his hands into the water again and again until he felt chilled to the bone. He reached into the water one last time and frowned as his fingertips caught on a bit of tree bark or other underwater sediment, making it very difficult indeed to retract his arm. He pulled, just for his arm to sink further, finally pushing the weight of his body against the grip and sighing with relief as he came loose. The relief did not last for long, as the thing that had held him so tightly came loose too and rose to the surface with his wrist, revealing that it was not the tree bark or pebble he presumed at all but a single hand, much smaller than his own and with narrow woman’s fingers.

The hand was soon followed by a head and shoulders and Ray took in the beautiful face of the pale girl slowly emerging from the river. She examined his face and smiled before opening her mouth as if to speak her name.

“Redeem me,” she sang in a voice of unsurpassed loveliness. “Redeem me.”

“Redeem you?” he asked. “Wh-”

She ran her fingers through his hair and used the other arm to push herself out of the water, droplets falling from the ends of her hair to her navel, where her skin became mottled and green, flecked with spots of gold. The water crashed behind her and Ray realised she had no feet, but a green fish’s tail instead.

“Who are you?” he asked, the girl’s face mere inches away from his own.

She opened her mouth to sing once more and he could not take his eyes from her lips.

“Ray?” she said, in a voice that did not belong to her. A voice that brought him crashing back to earth.

When Ray first arrived at the Mint Eye castle, it had been a good deal quieter. Acolytes and believers were far fewer in number than in recent times and it was easy to find a quiet room to gather his thoughts. Lately the only place he could find any semblance of calm was the dimly lit control room, surrounded by screens and the gentle hum of multiple machines.

It was easier to focus there, to forget there was a world outside of his little room. He watched all of it on camera, with little to no consideration that any of it was real.

Well, all of it except for her.

MC reminded Ray of so many things: sunlight shining through the curtains; the gentle touch of a summer breeze. If he was to compare her to anything, though, it was Pandora’s box.

The more he watched her, the more he wanted to know her. He wanted to understand everything unique to her, every link of her DNA, though feared that even with such information at hand, he would have more questions than answers.

He watched her as she tucked into dinner; as she combed her hair first thing in a morning. He watched her laugh as she spoke on the phone; the way she tucked her phone under her pillow.

He often fell asleep doing little more than watch her, which more than explained the fuzziness in his head as he woke up at his desk, along with a telltale crick in his neck. He massaged it with a wince, finally (and resentfully) glancing across at the person who had managed to wake him. It was one of the newer recruits, low ranked and eager to please.

“Ray, sir,” they said, reaching into their robes for an all too familiar bottle. “The Saviour requested I give this to you.”

Ray blinked, glancing from the bottle to the Believer holding it out to him.

So she didn’t trust him, after all.

It was a strong dose, the smell alone enough to make his eyes water. He squeezed them shut and pushed aside the medicine, signalling to the acolyte that it was time for them to go.

He was only too grateful for the sound of the closing door, the return to silence. He set the bottle of Elixir at the furthest corner of his desk and cupped his face in his hands, staring into the closest television screen. MC was tucked up in bed, her hair splayed across the pillows.

He could see her in front of him, yet already he missed her. It would be hours before she woke up and just the idea of waiting was too much for him to bear. Something about the way she spoke; the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. His every thought returned to her, desperate to know more of her and never quite satisfied when he did.

His eyelids drooped, vision waxing and waning as his mind finally fell blank.

He woke under the stars, a cool breeze whipping through his hair and carrying rose petals with it. One landed on his nose and he reached up to brush it away, wondering all the while how he had gotten there. He remembered being at his desk, but that was all.

Someone laughed and he rolled over into a sitting position, taking note of a familiar figure darting across the garden and out of sight.

“MC?” He called out, wondering how she had gotten out of her room. She didn’t answer, nor even return, her footsteps and laughter echoing across the green.

Someone must have let her out and he doubted it was the Saviour. She had been the one to insist MC stayed in her room, after all. He got to his feet and gave chase, following her through the rose bushes and shielding himself from the thorns.

MC had on her nightgown and nothing more, running barefoot and with her hair untied.

“MC?” He called, willing her to come back. She turned on her heel and waved to him, gesturing for him to come closer, only to run off the moment he did.

Ray had gone into the garden only recently, eager to pick fresh flowers for MC’s room. He knew every inch of it, from every archway to flower in bloom. MC ran into a hedge maze, though, that he knew he had never seen before.

He hesitated before following her, eying the blue roses blooming through the gaps in the leaves and perfuming the night air with a sickly sweet scent.

“Ray!” MC called, “where are you?”

He took a deep breath and stepped into the maze, reaching out his left hand to touch the left wall. MC giggled as if he touched her instead; singing voice resonating through the leaves and flowers.

“Redeem me…Three times three…”

He picked up speed and travelled further into the labyrinth, bright blue roses blooming through the gaps as if to guide his way. He took a left and then a right, with only her voice to guide his way.

Before long he arrived at the center, stepping out from the gravel path and onto polished stone. MC stood in the middle, surrounded on either side by marble statues of Grecian muses. Their eyes were cold and empty in the moonlight and MC ran her fingers over the stone of their dresses as if she did not see him standing there.

“MC,” he said, walking into the man made clearing and reaching for her hand. She had to come back to the castle, back to the Saviour’s care.

She turned to him with a questioning look and for a second he wondered if she meant to run. In the end she said nothing, instead stroking her fingers along the front of her dress. His breath caught in his throat and he could do nothing but stare as she looped her fingers around the straps at her shoulders before dropping the fabric to reveal her pale breasts. She reached one hand to cup the left and glanced up at him to gauge his reaction, smiling when she saw him staring and largely speechless, the castle forgotten.

She placed one hand on his chest and kissed him on the cheek; the same chaste sort of kiss he had considered giving her before wishing her goodnight. He told himself that he should leave, that he had no right to stay, but there was only so many times he could repeat that in his mind and remain convinced. MC’s nimble fingers along the soft skin below his navel was not one of those times and he closed his eyes, begging the Saviour for forgiveness as he pushed MC against the base of the nearest statue.

She tore at his clothing, ripping his shirt buttons and casting it aside. Her kisses were greedy and all wild, catching at his lips with her teeth. He sighed as she slid her hand into his underwear and gripped onto his dick, releasing her grip only to stroke her fingers across his shaft.

He lifted her into his arms and she looped her arms around his neck, watching as he lined the tip of his cock to her entrance. She kissed him and he let her drop.

She gasped at the sudden, sharp sensation, digging her nails into his shoulders. He gripped onto her thighs and adjusted his angle, thrusting out of instinct and taking all of her in.

He had wanted to know her from head to toe; had wanted to know everything that made her her. In that moment, her walls tight around his cock and body pressed up against his, she was more intriguing. He thought about Pandora’s box- the mystery of her unravelling around him as she did in his arms. He should stop before there was nothing of her left, yet he found himself desperate for more. He lost himself in her every time his hips hit hers, forgot each of his Saviour’s teachings as MC moaned his name.

He was manhandling her and they both knew it; each of his thrusts pushing her into solid stone. She did not express any sort of pain, though, instead crying for him to fuck her harder, to go faster and deeper. He wondered if she needed him as much as he did her; if she missed him when he wasn’t there.

“Please, Ray,” she cried, skin growing paler and paler in the moonlight, “please!”

He pushed into her, biting his bottom lip as he came, knees wobbling at the feel of her tightening around him. He let out a sharp gasp, squeezing his eyes shut as MC cried out into the darkness. He loosened his grip and slid out of her, only then realising exactly how out of breath he actually was.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, only to fall mute at what he saw.

MC was not only pale, but her skin was cracking, leaving enormous gaping fault lines across her skin.

“M…MC?” He asked, wondering what on earth was happening and receiving nothing in reply. “MC!”

She looked up at him, eyes no longer warm and bright but built of solid stone. She smiled and her face cracked, looking all for the world like a broken doll.

She mouthed something, though he couldn’t hear, too overwhelmed by the bright blue elixir flowing out of the gaps in her body.

“Ray,” someone called, though he barely heard them. He was too preoccupied with lowering MC to floor, helpless and alone. What would the Saviour say if she knew what he had done?

“Ray!”

Elixir flowed out of one of the cracks in MC’s face, looking for all the world like a tear. He was sorry and he didn’t know why, tears flowing from his own eyes as he leaned over to kiss her stony lips.

He didn’t understand what was happening, but one certainty remained.

He couldn’t save her.

“RAY!”

His eyes snapped open, though not before witnessing MC crumbling into dust.

His head hurt again and he squeezed his eyes shut, every light and noise in the room too much for his senses. It took him far longer than usual to realise that he had been dreaming, in part because the tears across his face were quite real. So too, unfortunately, was the wetness in his underwear.

He sat up, taking deep breaths and squinting at the Saviour, who stood in the doorway of his little haven. She didn’t look happy, though thankfully didn’t seem to have noticed the growing stain across his crotch.

“Ray,” she said, taking a few steps into the room. “I came to check if you’d taken your medicine.”

Her words were soft and full of concern, so much so that he felt guilty for abandoning her, even if it was only a dream.

“I…” He glanced across at the forgotten bottle. “I’m sorry, Saviour. I’ll do it right now.”

She smiled as he reached for the bottle and raised it to his lips with trembling hands. He kept a straight face as it burned even as it burned his throat, hands trembling and stomach churning. He clapped a hand over his lips to keep it down, senses already growing numb.

“You’re doing well,” said the Saviour, taking the empty bottle and holding it to the light. “So well…”

She cupped his face in hers, and he told himself that it was the elixir that left him feeling sick. His vision blurred and he watched her lips, trying and failing to make out her words.

He watched her leave, a vacant smile all he could muster. He turned back to his desk as she closed the door, vision waxing and waning and the screens almost unbearable. He glanced at MC, still tucked up in bed and ignorant of everything.

Soon she would see. Soon she would dance in the paradise forever, safe from the cruel world beyond the castle grounds.

Until then, he switched off the screen, silently thanking the Saviour for getting there in time. Elixir was painful, but numbed senses were the only way to break the siren’s spell and leave him in silence.


	12. Petrichor (Nadia)

_Nadia’s entry for my 2019 Year of Smut! I’ve never posted girl on girl smut before, so this was its own special branch of adventure. While I was looking for references I discovered an entire subculture of RPF and smutty fics about Judi Dench. Each to their own but I was **not**  expecting it._

**The Arcana | Nadia x Apprentice | Explicit**

* * *

The rain was getting heavier.

MC frowned through the carriage window, wishing she had taken more time to study weather magic. At the very least she and Nadia would have been able to take a walk and catch their breath without dirtying their clothes.

They had been invited to dinner at the home of one of Nadia’s favourite councillors; a man who left the court in favour of spending his twilight years travelling the globe. He had recently returned to Vesuvia to stock up on supplies for the next leg of his trip, yet was only too happy to reshuffle his itinerary for a chance to invite the Count and Countess to dinner at his official residence. He was somewhat behind on current events, having missed the plague that once ravaged the city, as well as Lucio’s unfortunate demise. Nadia drafted multiple replies and updates, but decided in the end that it would be easier to explain everything in person, which she would likely end up doing anyway.

MC had been morbidly curious about Councillor Markus’ reaction to each new development, though none nearly as much as Nadia arriving without Lucio. The reaction had mostly been the same-MC getting worked up over potential outcomes, only to arrive to sighs of relief and warm embraces. Even so, MC was still incredibly nervous about stepping out as Nadia’s lover and Markus’ estate was as good a situation to set off her nerves as any other.

“I wouldn’t want it to be awkward,” she had said, even as she dressed for the evening. “Markus has never met me…I’m sure he’d rather…”

Nadia would hear none of it, though, laughing off the very idea that anyone in Vesuvia would feel even the slightest joy at seeing Lucio alive, let alone still ruling over the land.

“He’s going to love you,” she said on more than one occasion. “Though not as much as I do, dear, remember that.”

MC had been nervous all evening, watching the storm clouds from her bedroom window and listening to the pitter patter when rain eventually began to fall. Until then it had been a humid summer and ordinarily MC might have been relieved at the prospect of cooling off in the rain, but not when it involved being dressed in an outfit more expensive than a year’s worth of the magic shop’s profits.

She had conjured a barrier as they made their way from the palace door to their carriage for the evening, which protected their heads and shoulders, though the same could not be said for the winding streets and roads from the palace. The rain fell with such force that it bounced off the cobblestones and they made it only so far as the outskirts of the city before the wheels of their carriage were caught in the mud.

The driver tried and failed to free them, ultimately opening up the carriage door with rain dripping from the tip of his nose to the ends of his hair and down onto his coat.

“I’m sorry, Countess,” he said, “but there’s no forcing it. I’ll need to ride back into the city for help…but I won’t leave you here…not in this weather.”

Nadia would not hear of it, however.

“I assure you, we’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves. If we wait for the rain to stop, we’ll be here all night.”

And so it was that the pair of them had spent the past few hours trapped inside of the abandoned carriage, waiting for help to arrive.

MC wondered how much time had actually passed. It felt as if they had been sitting there for days, and there was only so much time one could sit in a confined space without succumbing to some sort of cabin fever.

The longer she stayed there, the more aware she became of Nadia’s perfume, of the bath salts she had almost certainly bathed in before getting dressed; each and every ornament carefully positioned in her hair.

Nadia never looked bad, not by any stretch of the imagination, but tonight she looked incredible. She had on a gown of periwinkle blue, paired up with a silver sash and diamond brooch. MC had been dressed to match, of course-a dress of ghostly silver with blue embellishments. Nadia liked it best when they matched, taking the time to pick out the best colour schemes and fabrics. MC still wasn’t used to luxury, but it gave her butterflies.

“Are you alright, dear?” Nadia asked, reaching out to link her fingers with MC’s. “You’ve been rather quiet.”

“I’m alright,” said MC, “it just seems a shame to get all dressed up for Councillor Markus and then not get to see him.”

“He’ll get over it,” said Nadia, reaching up to loop MC’s hair around . “He devoted an entire wing of his mansion to weathervanes and astronomy equipment several years ago, so doubtless he’d find it fascinating.”

“If he knew it was going to rain, why did he invite us?”

“Ah, perhaps he extended the invitation only as a formality and knew all along.”

MC giggled at that, unsure of exactly how serious she was.

“Perhaps we should surprise him,” she said. “Take a route through the forest all of the way to his front door.”

“Bold move,” said Nadia. “He’ll never see it coming.”

“Just like the rain!”

They burst into laughter, the rainfall momentarily forgotten.

“Really though, I could never ruin this dress. I think it’s worth more than the magic shop.”

“Well now we seem to be at an impasse. You’re a vision in silks…but I’ll admit I have no objections to seeing you without them.”

“Aren’t you used to seeing me without them by now?”

Nadia placed a hand over her heart with an expression of mock offense.

“MC, how could you accuse me of such a thing! Every time you get dressed my heart breaks a little.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that,” said MC, taking a moment to peer out of the window before lowering the velvet drapes.

Nadia watched with a wry smile as MC lifted her skirts, loosening the fastenings and pulling the dress over her head.

“Come here,” she said, motioning for MC to come closer and repositioning herself to ease her up onto her lap.

She ran her fingers through MC’s hair as she delivered the first kiss; slipping them into her underwear as she crushed her lips against hers for the second. MC gasped into the kiss, knees shaking as Nadia rubbed her fingertips across her clit.

“Here?” MC whispered. “Right now?”

This was hardly the most ambitious place they had chosen for a tryst. Once, after dismissing her guards, Nadia had gotten down onto her knees while MC sat on her throne, worshipped in more ways than one.

It was the first time they had ever done so in the carriage, though, with a higher than usual chance of getting caught. The driver might come back at any time, his footsteps drowned out by the downpour. Just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine and she gasped at Nadia’s wordless answer, which was to slide a finger into her.

Nadia pushed her down onto the other seat, back flat against the cushions, leaving her to watch as she set aside her own dress. MC watched, entranced at the way her fingers worked the fabric, revealing the soft, unblemished skin beneath. MC knew she was staring but she couldn’t stop herself. She could think of nothing but Nadia, watching with bated breath as she knelt down on the seat next to her, lifting one of her legs and wrapping it around her waist with a knowing smile.

MC let out the breath she had been holding when their hot folds touched, clits touching only gently, though sending shudders of pleasure through her spine.

“Oh g-” She started, only to lose her train of thought as Nadia shifted her hips and increased the friction.

The rain was loud, so loud, though not as loud as MC’s moans as Nadia leaned forward and ground her hips harder, their breasts touching and hands interlocked.

“That’s a good girl,” whispered Nadia, both of their bodies so warm that MC forgot they were naked. She could feel Nadia’s heat, could feel her wetness every time she moved her body. She gripped hold of Nadia’s waist, groaning in relief as she picked up her pace and ground her clit against hers with far more urgency than before. The friction was good-almost too good.

Nadia lifted MC’s leg over one shoulder with a murmur of something unintelligible through the fog of lust. From tone at least she assumed it was praise.

Their sexes touched and MC lost all train of thought, reaching up to hold onto Nadia’s breast and wishing that the resulting moan from her lover was more tangible, so that she might capture it and listen whenever she wished. There was something incredibly satisfying about it when it crossed her ears, from knowing she had had some small part in it to experiencing a side of the Countess that no one else had ever seen.

Nadia rocked her hips harder and faster, gasping when MC met her halfway. The surprise lasted only an instant, quickly replaced by a look of pure mischief.

“Why MC,” she said, “I had no idea you had that in you.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Nadia cocked her head to the side, taking in MC’s nakedness and bold expression.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “How terrible of me.”

“I think you’d better make it up to me,” said MC, hoping she sounded as confident as she felt.

Nadia laughed and ran a hand over her leg, rings shimmering when they caught the light. She let go, MC watching in anticipation as Nadia untangled their bodies and spread both of her legs, sinking down onto all fours to give her pussy one almost torturously slow lick.

MC squeezed her eyes shut, Nadia kissing her sex as deeply as she kissed her lips. She opened her eyes only briefly, taking in the sight of Nadia’s dark hair across her body. She came quickly, tangling her fingers in Nadia’s hair and grinding against her lips-nothing mattering in that moment outside of the rush of pleasure running through her.

* * *

“Do you think they’ve forgotten us?”

MC stared at the ceiling of the carriage, legs tangled with Nadia’s. The rain continued to drum against the roof, with no sign of easing any time soon.

“It certainly seems that way,” sighed Nadia. “I have to admit I was half expecting them to show up the moment we took our clothes off.”

MC blushed, grateful that she had not been the only one to consider such things.

“Perhaps the fates weren’t paying attention,” she said. “Night like this, I imagine they’re busy drenching people who deserve it.”

Nadia laughed at the thought, so softly that MC would not have known were it not for the feeling of her breath against her skin.

“In that case,” she said, climbing back up onto all fours and crawling up the seat to plant a kiss on her lips, “it was a lucky escape. We absolutely should not tempt them any more than we already have.”

“We wouldn’t want to get caught, now,” said MC, even as she stroked a hand down Nadia’s back.

“Of course not. That would be terrible.”

“Awful.”

MC giggled, though it was quickly silenced by Nadia’s lips on hers.

Perhaps they would be there all night after all.


	13. Discovery (Yukimura x MC x Saizo)

_Yukimura and Saizo’s collaborative entry on the 2019 YOS!_

**SLBP | Yukimura x Saizo x MC | Explicit**

~~~

Yukimura and Saizo have known one another from childhood. In many respects they grew up together-a fact that Saizo frequently denies, for he was a teenager at their first meeting. Even so, that scrawny shinobi is worlds from the one that pilfers dango from the kitchens to the point that MC might never have guessed they were the same person.

Saizo and Yukimura share stories that MC has never heard; jokes that MC will never understand. She loves hearing tales of their antics, trying to imagine this version of them that she will never know.

Their affection for one another is infectious, and even after marrying Yukimura, MC divides her time between them both. She might never know the people they were, but it’s difficult to feel unhappy about it when she shares so much of their present. They are both handsome, both strong and noble, and MC often jokes that she might have married Yukimura, but feels married to them both. They come as a pair in all senses, after all.

Saizo is naturally flirtatious and Yukimura almost too easy to fluster. She doesn’t complain when caught in the middle of their banter, shamelessly flirting with Saizo and kissing away Yukimura’s blushes. It’s never serious, nor uncomfortable. Saizo is the only man alive Yukimura would allow to flirt with her and even then he respects what few boundaries there are.

Their playful teasing and innuendo feels natural, as did the first time Saizo ever kissed her on the lips. They were drinking at the time and, while she does not remember exactly how, conversation turned to drinking sake from a lover’s lips. Just the description left Yukimura stammering and so naturally Saizo offered to demonstrate.

MC is sure she will never forget the heat blossoming up inside of her; her cheeks flushing a bright red as he deftly cupped her face and put a sake cup to her lips, eyes questioning. She accepted the alcohol, heart fluttering so quickly when his lips touched hers that for a moment she feared she would faint. It was as overwhelming as it was wonderful; the sake dripping from her jawline to her collarbone; the warmth of Saizo’s body so close to hers; Yukimura taking in every movement and sigh with bated breath.

Until that night MC hadn’t realised exactly how much she had been holding back. Now that the floodgates are open, she scarcely recognises her life before. It grows harder and harder to relate to the version of herself who didn’t admire her own naked body and slip her fingers between her thighs to match her husband and lover’s moans of pleasure. She no longer remembers what it was like to make love to Yukimura with no one else present.

She is spoiled, so very spoiled, but makes no apologies for how greedy she has become.

She spreads her legs for Saizo and scrapes her nails through his hair the closer she comes. She sits astride Yukimura and takes as much of him in as is humanly possible, all while stroking her clit in the manner she learned from Saizo.

She will watch, fascinated, as Yukimura kisses his way down her body, long lashes fluttering in ways they never do outside of the bedroom.

She will motion for them to come closer, to touch her exactly where she wants. Sometimes they oblige her. Sometimes they don’t.

This night is slightly more forbidden than usual. It’s the middle of the night and she’s sitting on her knees, cheeks flush and night robes around her waist.

Before now, they’ve only ever met within the relatively safe confines of their bedroom. Tonight, though, they’re out in the open, tucked away in an outhouse left empty in the summer months. MC breaks out in goosebumps at the knowledge alone that they might be disturbed.

She trusts that even if Saizo doesn’t hear anyone approach, he will be able to think of a good excuse and watches affectionately as he and Yukimura loosen each other’s clothes, allowing them to fall to the floor. She’s seen them undress countless times, though never tires of it. There is always a new scar or freckle she hasn’t seen before, their bodies enough of an enigma to keep her returning for more.

She smoothes her hands across her lap, trying and failing to hide her anticipation. She wants to touch them so very badly; to lose herself until her throat is hoarse and her thighs sticky from both of them.

She reaches for their cocks without hesitation, squeezing her fingers around one and then the other as she glances up from the floor. Yukimura blushes even now, as if he has never seen her in any state of undress, much less undressed and reaching for his cock. She squeezes tighter,  pumping her fist from shaft to tip so slowly that it even leaves her desperate for more. She loves the sounds they make when she touches them; the way they buck their hips and whine.

She runs her tongue along the underside of Saizo’s dick, picking up the pace with her other hand and earning a groan of pleasure from Yukimura. Saizo sucks in a single deep breath, only releasing it to grin and call her ‘little lady’. He reaches for her hair, but she pulls away with a shake of her head before wrapping her lips around Yukimura’s.

She continues in this way for quite some time; the wet sound of her lips around them and their steady sounds of pleasure the only thing to break the silence. She makes sure to touch them exactly as they like to be touched and as fast as they prefer.

She does not, however, allow them to come. She slows down every time they get remotely close; every time one of them tries to take her by the hair. It’s unfair, after all, that they should get all of the fun.

She reaches down into her robes and strokes her clit, stroking her fingertip in time with her one handed thrusts. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that anyone might walk in, but even the gentlest sends ripples of pleasure through her body.

“Touch me,” she murmurs and they do not disappoint. Saizo lifts her up onto all fours and reaches out to caress her ass as she continues to suck at Yukimura. She gasps as Saizo takes hold of both of her arms and holds them behind her back, leaving her in a precarious position to say the least.

She turns to him, curious about what he intends to do next. She grinds against him, spotting the way he reaches to stroke himself and rubs the tip of his cock against her. He’s gentle when he pushes in and for good reason. The angling of her body leaves her aware of every inch of him.

It takes a few slow thrusts to fit inside of her completely, and she nods for him to go faster, crying out in a mixture of shock and pleasure when he does. Yukimura reaches out to card his fingers through her hair, guiding her back to his cock and stifling her helpless moans. She can’t think straight; can’t do anything else but moan and dig her nails into her hands. Every touch and new sensation leaves her seeing stars.

Her body tenses, every inch of her body focussed on the white heat at her core. She cries out, though no one hears, only Saizo aware of the pulses inside of her. He loosens his grip on her arms, leaving her to flop forward like a ragdoll,too caught up in her own afterglow to care about what happens next. Saizo turns her and rolls her over onto her back, and she smiles as Yukimura spreads her wide. She feels him slide into her, resting her legs over his shoulders to take her just as deeply as Saizo.

She bites down on her lip so hard that it breaks the skin, throwing her head back as he begins to pick up the pace with strangled moans of his own. She reaches down with one hand to stroke her clit and squeezes Saizo’s dick with the other. By now they are just as speechless as she is; each desperate to come and ride out the releases building inside of them for so long.

Yukimura’s thrusts grow so hard and fast that her entire body shakes from the impact. She knows she be sore tomorrow but can’t bring herself to care. She tries to pump at Saizo’s cock with the same amount of force, but even if her arms and legs didn’t feel so delightfully weightless, she doesn’t have nearly the same amount of strength in her arms as Yukimura.

She comes a second time, building swiftly from the first. By now she’s given up on moaning, instead closing her eyes and reaching out to hold onto her breasts, only for Yukimura to coax her hands away. His mouth drops open, slowing down his thrusts to an almost unbearable level. She watches, pink cheeked and satisfied, as the climax takes hold of him, leaving him to bury himself deep inside of her and fall so silent that for a second she’s concerned he’ll faint.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut almost as tightly as he does her thighs. Under normal circumstances, she’d be worried about bruises there, but more lately she wears them as badges of pride.

She whines as he pulls out of her and takes a deep breath, dumbly glancing around the room as if it is new to him.

“MC,” he murmurs.

“Yes?”

“Where’s Saizo?”

“Saizo?”

She had hold of him just a second ago, yet he isn’t there when she looks. Even his clothes are gone.

“Wh-”

The slam of a sliding door shortly afterwards is all the explanation they need. Within seconds the room is flooded with lamplight, the cool night air sending shivers down her spine.

It’s difficult to tell who’s more embarrassed-Sasuke Sr, who presumably has come to investigate the strange noises, or Yukimura, who almost immediately shrinks back to cover her body with his clothes.

“S-s-s-Sasuke! I didn’t hear you-”

He drops his night robes over MC and hops to his feet, leaving her to wonder if he has forgotten his own state of undress.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” says Sasuke, though whether he refers to his own soft steps or their ragged moans MC can’t tell. “Not…you two at least.”

He gives them a wry grin and brief glance at the ceiling, seemingly unperturbed by his unintentional discovery. She follows his gaze towards the ceiling, past the rafters and towards the roof, just in time to see a shadowy figure escape through the the highest window.

She gasps, trying and failing to feign any sort of innocence.

“Goodness! Is there someone else in here with us?”

She’s grateful in more ways than one that Sasuke Sr-an experienced man in his own right- is the one to stumble upon their depravity. In all of Kai he is perhaps the one least likely to ask questions, second only to the man currently escaping across the roof, as silent and swift as a kunai in the dark.


	14. A Hand to Hold (Baba)

_Baba is the man for August on my year of smut. I binged his stories and fell for him hard. He deserves the good things in life._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_**Kissed by the Baddest Bidder | Baba x pregnant!MC | Explicit** _

* * *

 “A-ah!”

He freezes, hands gentle against her waist.

“Did I hurt you?”

She cannot see his face but can feel the concern in his voice and tightens her grip on the bed sheets.

“I’m fine, keep going.”

She’s more than a little firm and Baba laughs out loud, reaching his hands over her ass and hips.

“Your wish is my command!”

She groans as he adjusts himself, desperate for every sensation in ways she never has before. A part of her wonders how it came to this, even though she is all too aware.

MC was not prepared for pregnancy.

Up until she held the test in her hand, the notion of becoming a mother only ever fleetingly crossed her mind. It was a fantasy for a different life, many years in the future. She had never quite decided upon exactly when, though, brushing it off for the future with every new development.

She did not take the revelation well. There was no denying that Baba was a free spirit and she refused to be the reason he left himself behind. She dreaded the prospect of telling him, guilt setting in at his soft touches to her back every time she threw up at breakfast. She pretended nothing was wrong when taking coffee to the penthouse suites, staying quiet even after passing out while polishing one of the guest rooms.

She wasn’t prepared for the joy in his eyes when she finally told him; the way he lifted her into his arms, only to rethink it and gently lower her to the floor. She wasn’t prepared for his enthusiasm, nor the near overnight transformation. Some things never change, though, which ultimately proved to be her greatest worry of all. She was transformed in more ways she might normally have believed possible, all while the rest of the world remained exactly the same.

Pregnancy was not kind to her, from breakouts to stretch marks to nausea to outbursts of emotion. Baba was nothing if not supportive, pulling her into a hug every time she so much as sniffled and humouring even the strangest of her cravings. It did not escape her notice, though, that his increased levels of protectiveness meant he held her at a distance.

Where before he would wink and whisper that he needed her, more recently he tucked her into bed with a kiss to the forehead and hot cup of cocoa. They shared a bed and yet she missed him…missed  _them_ , whether it was accompanying him on one heist or another or making love until the early hours of the morning. She wasn’t sure she believed him when he told her she was beautiful and watched in envy at the pretty girls who chanced second glances at her husband. She felt ashamed at her naked body, convinced that his compliments stemmed from pity. They rarely, if ever, had sex anymore; MC often so sluggish and utterly self conscious that just the thought of becoming intimate left her anxious.

The third trimester was its own special brand of hell. MC huffed and puffed around the hotel, feeling awfully like a beached whale. Erika enjoyed making that particular observation, complaining about the quality of her work with a wry smile. Eisuke gave up on complaining about her taking longer than five minutes to get to the penthouse in favour of expressing surprise that she made it at all.

Her only consolation was the knowledge that she wouldn’t be pregnant forever, which of course only upset her further when her due date came and went without any signs of labour.

The doctors were quick to tell her that nothing was wrong, recommending techniques and other remedies to safely induce the baby. She spent her free time balancing on a yoga ball, stockpiled raspberry leaf tea, urged Baba to add more and more spice to her food…and all to no avail.

There was another option, of course; a suggestion that popped up in almost every list and forum. It was incredibly effective if the testimonials were anything to go by, but she found herself scrolling past it every time.

The irony, of course, wasn’t lost on her. Up until recently she would have laughed off the very thought that she might one day become hesitant at bringing up sex with Baba. Even more bizarre was the very real possibility of him being horrified or repulsed by the idea. He didn’t bring it up either, after all. Her patience wore thin and she spent more time than she would like in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing what she meant to say and chickening out every time.

In the end he heard it by accident.

MC was brewing a fresh pot of raspberry tea, alone in the house and bored out of her mind. She didn’t feel like watching television, didn’t feel like taking a walk and certainly did not feel like spending another evening perched on a yoga ball.

She reached for her cup with a sigh, annoyed at her cowardice and aching back.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that hard,” she muttered, taking a deep breath and turning on her heel, ready to take a seat on the couch. “ ‘Baba, I’ve been thinking..’ “

She made it all the way to the couch before noticing she had relocated her favourite cushion and plodded to the bedroom, practicing the lines she was otherwise unable to say.

“I’ve been doing my research,” she said, lifting her cushion from the pile on the bed. “We should…”

She fluffed the cushion with rather more force than usual.

“Yes, that’s it, we should have sex, it-“

She groaned and raised her voice, the words sounding more and more absurd the more she said them.

“I want to have sex,” she cried out. “Right now! No playing around, just hot and sweaty and-“

She was on a roll, though her confidence dissolved at the opening of the bedroom door. Baba stepped inside, expression almost entirely unreadable.

“How much did you hear?”

“I, uh…”

He cleared his throat.

“All of it.”

MC blushed with embarrassment, immediately shielding her face with the cushion. She couldn’t believe he’d heard her say something so embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, “please forget you heard anything, I-“

He reached for the cushion, trying and failing to move it away from her face.

“I had no idea you felt that way,” he said, “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t…I just, not until now. I don’t blame you for not wanting to either, I know I’m gross and fat and…”

“ _Huh_? MC, I could never think you were gross,” he said. “Especially not when it’s because of me you got that way.”

He took a step forward and reached for her shoulder, MC letting the cushion fall to the floor. They hadn’t kissed with such passion since her early scans and she allowed herself to relax into his embrace.

He reached to unbutton her blouse, smiling into their kisses.

“If anything,” he said, ghosting his hands over her exposed skin, “I find you sexier than ever before.”

As she sat back onto the bed, propped up by her mountain of pillows, she wondered why she had ever doubted him. How had she allowed herself to become so paranoid?

His movements were gentle; lips so soft against her thighs that she reached for his hair. She had never felt his gentler touches so clearly before and gasped at the slightest brush of his tongue against her clit.

So here they are; MC propped up against the pillows, gripping onto the bed covers so tightly that her knuckles are white. She rocks her hips against his, desperate to take him deeper and relishing his moans. She’s never been this bold before, clutching at her breasts and urging him on, her long forgotten tea growing cold in the next room. Her need for him is so overwhelming that she can think of little else; the chase to orgasm a matter of life and death.

He runs his hand over her stomach and down towards her clit, MC crying out in a mixture of shock and pleasure at the jolts of pleasure it sends through her body.

“Baba, I,” she says, inhaling sharply as he strokes his fingers over her heat, “Baba don’t st-ah!”

Her body buckles and shudders, MC swallowed whole by release. She tightens around his cock and he lets go of her clit, steadying himself as he follows suit. She peers over her shoulder at him, taking in the sheen of sweat on both of their bodies, their pants from the exertion and trembles as Baba slowly eases his cock from her.

She lets go of the pillows, Baba easing her over onto her back. She reaches up to loop her arms around his neck, stealing greedy, exhausted kisses. She’s missed them; missed the comfortable silence and tender kisses that come after sex.

For a moment she’s sure she doesn’t care if the baby never comes. He will be a kind and attentive father and she wants him all to herself for a little while longer.

It’s a happy moment, however short lived, the waves of her orgasm ebbing away and pressure at the base of her spine easing into something warm…and wet.

“MC,” Baba gasps, eyes growing wide. “I think…did your water just break?”

MC glances down at the covers, heart skipping a beat at the liquid seeping through them.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs, staring numbly at the covers. “Oh my god.”

She wasn’t prepared for pregnancy; wasn’t ready for everything to change. Even now that her waters have broken and the reality sinks in that she will soon be holding a son or daughter, she isn’t ready. There’s comfort, though, in the way Baba throws himself from the bed, buttoning up his shirt all wrong and searching in completely the wrong place for her hospital bag.

He isn’t prepared either and it’s oddly reassuring; a reminder that no matter how chaotic their lives become, she has a hand to hold.


	15. Aria (Jumin Han x Jihyun Kim)

_This is the shortest piece so far for my[2019 YOS](https://fromthedeskofelizabeththird.tumblr.com/2019YOS). I did a couple of drafts where it was about twice the length but it felt unnecessary, so I decided to leave it short and sweet._

**Mystic Messenger | JuminV | Explicit**

* * *

 

Jumin doesn’t care for pet names. He squirms any time he hears ‘sweetheart’ or ‘baby’, even if the majority of the time such endearments are not meant for him. It is just one of many consequences of growing up in a broken home; of strange women rifling their fingers through his hair and calling him ‘sweetie’.

Jihyun, by comparison, loves pet names. He could live for one hundred years and never once call his lover by name. He likes to observe his loved ones and think up names that will suit them, names that he can ponder long after they’ve gone.

For that, if nothing else, their relationship is one of compromises. Jihyun uses pet names only in text form, a format that Jumin can choose to ignore without leaving the two of them in uncomfortable silence.

There are moments, though, where he cannot help himself and Jumin is unlikely to either.

Right now is one of those moments; a relatively rare moment of peace and quiet in an otherwise hectic week. This is the first time they’ve been alone together since last Thursday and they mean to make up for lost time.

Jumin lays on his back, one arm stretched above his head and wrapped around his pillow, the other tangled in Jihyun’s hair. His eyes are closed and tightly so, teeth grazing his lower lip in an attempt at holding himself together.

Needless to say, he isn’t doing a very good job and Jihyun can think of nothing better than prolonging his suffering. He makes sure to suck and squeeze until Jumin gasps and holds himself tight then leave him hanging until the moment is gone. Jumin doesn’t handle teasing well (unless, of course, he is one handing it out) and it’s only too satisfying to see him grow increasingly desperate.

Right on cue, Jihyun lets go of him, leaving him to groan in pure frustration. He looks up into his eyes and does his best to look innocent, as if he simply lacks skill and is not at all curious of exactly how far he can push him before it all becomes too much.

“J-Jihyun…”

Jihyun responds by drawing circles across his hips with the end of his finger, all but ignoring Jumin’s cock. Jumin draws in a deep breath and fumbles with his pillow, trying to shift his attention away to something-anything-else. In response, Jihyun runs his tongue over the underside of his dick, gaining two shuddering gasps by way of reward.

Jumin is so, so close to coming. It’s clear in his every word and action. It’s clear when he opens his eyes only slightly; when he loosens his grip on Jihyun’s hair to bite down on his fingers. It’s too clear when Jihyun runs his tongue over Jumin’s tip, drawing a circle just like he did with his fingers.

Jumin’s groans are muffled by his fingers, but even so they’re music to Jihyun’s ears.

In truth, Jumin does use pet names, though only one and only during the free fall of pleasure when he loses all sense of reality. It’s the only pet name Jihyun will accept; a name he still blushes over long after the moment is gone. He considers it when he feels lonely or paints the moon. It lingers on his lips like a kiss- the knowledge that Jumin will never, ever admit to saying it outside of the bedroom only making it more delicious.

Slowly, almost unbearably slowly, he takes hold of Jumin’s dick and gives it a tight squeeze, coaxing all manner of sounds from his partner in the process. He runs his thumb over Jumin’s tip, stroking his fingers from base to shaft and gaining momentum with every caress.

Jihyun does not feel cruel enough to prolong his suffering any longer. He takes up an unrelenting pace that would have been breathtaking even if Jumin wasn’t already close.

Jumin is making all manner of sounds and none of them sound like words, but Jihyun listens out anyway, waiting for that single word that rings like music to his ears.

The tension breaks and Jumin groans, planting both of his hands on either side of the bed, Jihyun watching smugly as he comes all over himself.

“Oh…” he gasps and Jihyun listens. He squeezes Jumin’s cock, more than willing to coax the words from his lips.

Jumin gasps, a babbling mess from even the slightest contact. The anticipation is almost too much. Just when he’s wondering if Jumin will ever say it, he hears it, so muffled that he would not notice if he wasn’t listening so very carefully.

“Oh…  _god_ …”

Jihyun smirks, knowing that Jumin will deny it once the afterglow passes. He hates pet names, after all, and prefers to show his appreciation in far subtler ways.

There’s nothing subtle about him in the bedroom, though- nothing subtle about  _either_  of them. Only when they’re stripped bare are they honest; Jumin overly affectionate and he overly proud. 

He wonders if Jumin is as proud of his makeshift arrogance as he is of Jumin’s temporary vulnerability; if Jumin spends as long contemplating how much he smiles at his own, private pet name as he does.

It’s bittersweet, but in all of the right ways. There are secrets even between lovers, after all, and 90% of the appeal lies in what remains unsaid.

At the very least, Jihyun believes so, and he smirks as he climbs up the bed and rests his head beside Jumin’s. 

Right now, after all, his is the voice of God and the world is his until reality sets in.


	16. Summer Blossoms (Jihyun Kim x MC)

V’s entry on the 2019 Year of Smut! 

**Mystic Messenger | Jihyun ‘V’ Kim x MC | Explicit**

_Yall know they’ve done this at least once_

* * *

“How much for this painting?” **  
**

MC glanced up from her clipboard and followed the stranger’s gaze. From the looks of things, he had an eye on one of the more experimental pictures, with bright streaks of colours that overlapped from one side of the canvas to the next with seemingly little regard for rhyme or reason.

“This one? Ahhh, this one is going to be auctioned off later on this evening. I don’t have an exact price for it, but the reserve is four hundred thousand won. If you like, I can make a note of your name and maximum bid.”

The collector scratched his chin before giving her a smile.

“Put me down for six million,” he said. “Lee Jinho.”

MC scribbled his name down with a nod, waving him off as he crossed the party hall to mingle with the other guests. MC watched him leave, muttering something about zany bourgeoisie as she sought out Jaehee.

As with most RFA parties, V had donated several of his artworks in the hopes of attracting generous donations. Where before he had handed over photograph collections, now his skill with a paintbrush was the main attraction. His works had always been popular, but now it took everything in MC and Jaehee’s power to keep the auction in order.

Jaehee, as it turned out, was taking a break to stretch her legs and take off her high heels, her clipboard momentarily placed across on her lap.

“We’ve got another one,” said MC, taking a seat beside her. “ _Summer Blossoms.”_

That painting had been on the receiving end of far more attention and bids than any other; more than Jihyun’s recreation of water lilies that had taken him several hours or the portrait he had scrapped and restarted several times. If she had been anyone else, MC might have been offended or even disappointed on his behalf, but just looking at that one filled her stomach with butterflies.

She knew its story after all. She was there when it was painted.

Jaehee picked up her pen and took MC’s clipboard, swiftly copying down the latest bids, while also adding some entries from her own.

“It looks like we’re going to get a lot of donations this evening,” she said. “V’s works are always a best seller.”

MC glanced around the room, searching for the telltale shade of his hair. He was standing by one of the punch bowls, engaged in what appeared to be a most serious debate with someone dressed as a mascot for one of the numerous animal sanctuaries they had invited. MC wondered what they were talking about, taking in every hand movement and twinkle in his eye at whatever it was the mascot said to him.

Every movement, every expression, reminded her of different times-the concentration across his face and flick of his wrists as he applied stroke after stroke of paint. He took great care in his art and so  _Summer Blossoms_  stood out like a sore thumb.

She blushed and took her clipboard back from Jaehee, staying in her seat and taking the opportunity to admire the painting from across the room. She admired the arcs of bright scarlet, the perfectly symmetrical rows of blue. She eyed the flashes of yellow at the top, blooming like flowers and perfectly suited to its name.

She knew the origin of every stroke, every smudge and layer of colour.

She was there when it was painted. She knew the story others didn’t.

She had seen  _Summer Blossoms_  when it was little more than an empty canvas, big enough to swallow her whole. She’d stood at the edge and taken in its broad frame, conscious of its vast emptiness in ways she never had before.

She was modest even as she gathered her hair at the base of her neck and tied it up into a bun, giggling at the feel of a paintbrush against her exposed skin. She didn’t know what colour he had chosen, only that it tickled and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself doubling over with laughter.

“Almost done,” he had said, before taking her by the shoulder and turning her to face him, smiling mischievously as she instinctively reached up to cover her naked body.

She had posed several times for him, alone in his studio. Those paintings never saw the light of day and were locked in a safe in their bedroom. She knew she ought to be used to being naked around him, but modesty kicked in more often than not.

He kissed her on the lips with a sigh and she allowed her arm to drop to her side, leaving her exposed in front of him. Perhaps it was the heated blush creeping across her cheeks, but she was suddenly far more aware than before of how cool and wet the paint across her back actually was.

She wasn’t just naked. No. This time she was a canvas in her own right. Jihyun lifted his paintbrush and traced swirling patterns across her body-bright arcs of blue and green, reds and pinks. He painted her collar bones, her breasts, her thighs, stopping only when she was almost entirely clothed in a layer of paint.

He set aside his paintbrushes then and reached for his shirt - the same ratty and faded shirt that he always wore when he painted. MC had long given up on trying to wash the paint out of it; it attracted stray flecks and streaks of colour. He abandoned it without hesitation, cupping his hands around her jawline as he kissed her. She reached for his belt buckle as his hands roamed her body, smearing the paint he had so lovingly applied.

She remembered fiddling with his belt buckle and fly, so overtaken by their kisses that her hands trembled and she had to break free to actually succeed. Jihyun’s response was to laugh and kick aside his pants, pushing her down onto the canvas with exactly the right balance of gentleness and force.

MC looped her arms around his neck, the paint across her front transferring to his chest. The canvas was coarse beneath her skin, though she barely felt it, too absorbed in the touches of the man above her; the same man that had taken so many months to bloom.

When she first met him, he had been a shrinking violet, too shy to so much as reach for her hand. She had thought she was dreaming the first time he leaned in for a kiss, let alone asked her to share his bed. He was a different man and unrecognisable; boisterous and affectionate where before he had been withdrawn.

She reached her hand to his abandoned paints, smearing colours across her palms and running them across his back as his hips crashed against hers. She gasped, robbed of all coherent thought, unable to draw her attentions away from how undeniably good it felt every time their bodies connected.

“Wait,” she whispered, loosening her arms and kissing him on the lips as he stopped.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, just…”

She pushed him over onto his back, pressing her hands down on either side of his head and straddling his waist.

“Better,” she said, sliding down onto his cock. He gasped at the rush of sensations and reached out for her hips, guiding her movements and holding her down every time she took him in completely.

MC’s movements were deliberately slow, an attempt to fully absorb the feel of him-every contour of his body, every curve, every scar.

Jihyun’s body had so many scars and she knew he was ashamed of them. They had been together for many months before he allowed her to see them, let alone reach out and touch.

He said nothing, though, as she sat up onto her knees and rested a hand on his stomach for balance. She dug her nails into her paint-streaked palms, taking him in so quickly and deeply that it bordered on pleasure and pain. She was close, so close, so unbearably close.

Jihyun closed his eyes and pushed his hips into her every time she dropped low, moaning her name and other words she could not decipher. She loved his voice at the best of times and especially when he was so incredibly restrained. She knew he held back more often than not, that his soft voice was the only one most people knew. Hearing him moan so deeply and desperately was music to her ears; a symphony only she was permitted to hear.

“Yes,” he moaned, “MC…MC..so…so good.”

His grip on her hips grew tighter with every touch, closing into fists until she could do little else but take him in shallowly, shockwaves running through her every time her clit touched his pubic bone.

“Wait,” he breathed, as urgently as she had, pushing himself up into a sitting position as she stopped. He planted a hand at the base of her spine, as firm as the kisses he planted on her lips.

She didn’t try to resist as he pushed her onto her back, only too happy to hit the canvas like a rag doll. He lifted her legs over his shoulders and she dug her nails into the fabric, crying out at the top of her lungs at the jolts of pleasure rushing through her core when he finally began to thrust.

He wasn’t holding back anymore, unapologetically chasing his own pleasure. MC raised her arms above her head and gripped the edge of the canvas, arching her hips into his.

She was lost in pleasure, lost to the feel of his hands against her thighs and cock deep inside of her. Not so long ago she would have laughed at the idea that one day this man would leave her cunt and throat raw, yet there they were, MC rapidly losing her voice and pushing her body into his. In the end, she came so hard and suddenly that it took them both by surprise.

Her body was warm, her arms and legs pleasantly numb and she glanced around the room contentedly as Jihyun chased his own release. In that moment, she was at ease with everything, enlightened in ways she usually wasn’t. She glanced around at the completed paintings that surrounded them, remembering that Jihyun’s first paintings were monochrome.

He let out a guttural moan, pulling out just in time to spill across her stomach. For a while, they stayed there, bodies entangled and covered in paint.

Reality sank in slowly- MC realising she had paint in her hair and Jihyun laying down beside her, body covered in bright streaks of colour reminiscent of summer blossoms.

The resulting painting was perfect chaos and MC loved nothing more than to admire it. From her position across the party hall, she could still make out every movement. She could see the spot her hands hit the fabric as she rested them on either side of Jihyun’s head; the marks where she had rested her knees against the fabric. She could see the layers of colour where both her back and Jihyun’s had pressed against the canvas; the subtle areas where he had drawn patterns on her body, only for it to be rubbed off and transferred elsewhere.

She didn’t blame the wealthy for wanting it so badly; they could try and fail to understand its deeper meaning for the rest of their days, never knowing how it had come to pass just as they would never really know the man who had so lovingly painted her body.


	17. Fragile (Muriel)

_Muriel, Muriel, Muriel. My favourite route in The Arcana. I’ve wanted to write something about him for ages because he’s adorable, but every time I tried this one image got stuck in my head:_

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9c1d5d6024c6f23d802cc63c68046de8/d70e9991a1ddb2b3-c0/s640x960/4b6bc7ba7a5dacf956357f0ffe48394667679b43.png)

**The Arcana | Muriel x Apprentice | Explicit**

~~~

He won’t hurt her.

She knows that better than any other aspect of him. She knew it long before his name or his past. She knows it as she sinks into his arms or watches him whittle.

Sometimes, though, she wishes he was more forceful. Every time she sits in his lap and steals kisses, she catches herself wishing he would hold her tighter. Whenever she catches glimpses of his body, her stomach flutters at the idea of exactly how strong he could be if he put his mind to it.

He was strong once, of course. She doesn’t remember the intimate details but stories last forever and there are more stories than she can count about the Scourge of the South.

Muriel has warned her more than once that they are almost all exaggerated, though she has come to understand that his reassurances aren’t for her benefit but his. She’s not sure how she would feel in his position, helpless to prevent her significant other from rumors of crushed skulls and bloody hands.

As far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter. The Muriel she knows would never hurt anyone, for better or worse. He would rather die than cause her pain, which proves somewhat unfortunate when the pair of them are naked.

It’s no secret that she wants him in the same way that he wants her. Some kisses last longer and all but bleed with desire, passion bubbling over onto the surface. MC is never safer than when she’s in his arms and it almost hurts that Muriel doesn’t believe it. He never allows himself to fully let go-constantly aware of his bulkier frame and the consequences of getting lost in the moment.

Everything about him is big. His hands, his feet. She’s miniscule compared to him, but it fills him with anxiety in ways it doesn’t her. It doesn’t help that their friends joke about it however harmlessly-a wink from Julian as he asks how on earth she walks; a raised eyebrow here and there as she chats with old friends at the market. Everyone, except for her, it seems, are convinced he will split her in two.

He breaks off their kisses long before he can lose control; rolls off her before he can get even slightly close to fucking her.

He won’t hurt her…and so it falls to her to take control.

He’s as red as a beacon as she straddles him, eyes darting around the room at her every movement. He’s seen her naked many times now, though never loses his modesty, blushing at her exposed skin as if she’ll change her mind at any moment. He’s still modest about his own nakedness, blush creeping across his skin if he catches her looking.

He’s ashamed of the scars that litter his body; the fingerprints of a different life. They remind him of the man he used to be and the shame comes flooding back.

She cannot change the past or heal all of his scars and never tries, instead showing her love and forgiveness in other ways. She runs her tongue over his rough skin, kissing the parts that hurt.

She searches for true discomfort every time she touches him, moving so slowly that he has plenty of room to protest. He is silent and still as she lowers her hips to his, taking in his tip with a satisfied gasp.

She knows he’s big, yet she’s still caught off guard, holding herself in place to adjust to the mix of pleasure and pain. He reaches for her hips, hands warm and gentle against her skin, offering support before it occurs to her to ask. She plants her hands on his stomach, anchoring herself as she lowers further, taking more of him in. She tests the waters and rocks her hips, sighing at the feeling of being so completely and utterly filled.

She doesn’t notice him reach for her hands at first, only realising when he has them in his and kisses her fingertips. He links his fingers with hers, holding on tightly as she lowers herself further and takes him to the hilt.

She’s trembling before she knows it, leaning back as she bucks her hips against his, taking him as deep as he can possibly go. She groans, taking one hand from his and reaching down to her clit, feverishly tracing circles across it to match the rhythm of their bodies colliding.

Muriel makes a sound beneath her that she has never heard before-a low rumble that reminds her of thunder.

It’s apt, the more she considers it. The heat between them has built for just as long as a balmy summer, heavy and humid on every sense until the rains come.

She thinks of lightning with every jolt of pleasure; the pressure inside her becoming as clear on her senses as an arriving storm. She can tell she’s close to coming undone, can think of nothing else but the growing ache inside of her. She can’t tell anymore that her frame is so much smaller than his, her need to cum so much more apparent to her than anything else.

She cries out when she finally comes, so loudly and suddenly that when she opens up her eyes, Muriel is watching her in shock, likely concerned that he might have hurt her as is so often the case. She doesn’t have the words to reassure him, let alone tell him how good he feels. Instead she strokes her hand across his middle, clenching it into a fist with a gasp at another shockwave of pleasure.

He sits up, keeping hold of her body to stop her falling backwards and cupping her face in one hand. The other rests at the base of her back, warm and secure, the qualities she so strongly associates with him.

She loops her arms around his shoulders and sits up straight, stealing kisses from his lips as she slows down her pace, using her position to take him in slowly and deeply.

Before this, he’s always held back and seeing him unravel is intoxicating. She sees it play out across his face-the tension in his body that melts away with a roar. He closes his eyes and holds her so tightly that she wonders if he’ll leave a bruise.

He’s still holding her long after he regains his composure and rests her gently against the pillows, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. He rests his head against her neck, hair tickling her exposed skin and she reaches out to card her fingers through it, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers

Later he will almost certainly examine her for damage, doubtlessly scouring every detail of her body for signs that he might have gone too far.

MC can only hope that her touches resonate as loudly as her feelings, communicating her love where her words cannot. He won’t hurt her; can never hurt her. He’s so much bigger than she is, but she’s the one who would leave a scar.

He may not believe it. He may shrink into himself for fear of acknowledging it.

Of the two of them, he’s the most fragile.


End file.
